


though I can't understand your breath

by jihoonscereal



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: (but only a minor character actually dies in fic), (kind of), Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst, Bucket List, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kim Seungmin-centric, Lee Minho | Lee Know-centric, Terminal Illnesses, cameos by tbz members, soonie doongie and dori are pretty big features
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:01:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28644120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jihoonscereal/pseuds/jihoonscereal
Summary: In a world where heroes - few and far between - are notoriously elusive and anonymous, Seungmin is a journalist assigned to dig into the private life of one of the best: Lino.There's just two problems:1) Lino is his friend.And 2) Lino is dying.
Relationships: Kim Seungmin & Lee Minho | Lee Know, Lee Minho | Lee Know & Everyone
Comments: 31
Kudos: 73





	though I can't understand your breath

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes life is procrastinating 2 essays and about 5 other things and rewatching bnha and then getting hit with an idea so hard you are possessed by the spirit of said procrastination to starting writing it immediately <3
> 
> tw: nothing super graphic but there's a lot of mentions of blood, non graphic fight scenes, discussions of death, one brief mention of vomiting, one scene involving drinking/being drunk (I think that's everything but as always let me know if there's something that should be added)
> 
> this is pretty sad, but I would say it's not... super heavy? more just sad I think
> 
> (title is from breathe by lee hi)

**BREAKING: ACTOR LEE JAEHYUN FOUND DEAD AT HOME AT AGE 27, POLICE ARE INVESTIGATING**

Seungmin lifts his head from his computer to look up at the TV tucked in the corner of the office. For a moment, he and his coworkers all pause to watch as the headline flashes over several pictures and clips of the actor, a news reporter telling them that it’s too early to know anything, but foul play is not suspected. Then there’s a cut to Lee Jaehyun’s frantic, sobbing manager, and Seungmin looks away. Someone has the decency to turn the volume down.

“All right, back to work,” Director Kim calls, clapping loudly. “We have deadlines to meet people. Gayoon-ssi, I want you to cover this.”

“Hey, Seungmin-ssi.” Gayoon, whose desk is next to Seungmin’s, rolls back her chair and kicks his. “Weren’t you working on an article about Lee Jaehyun?” Seungmin looks at his screen, at his blinking cursor midway through a sentence on Lee Jaehyun’s recent philanthropic endeavors. On paper, he feels far less real, like a distant, immortal figure. 

“Yeah, I had an interview scheduled with him tomorrow.” Seungmin winces a little. He doesn’t mean it to be insensitive, and he doesn’t think it comes across that way, but even talking about an interview that should have been feels a little crass. The man just died for God’s sake. 

“Don’t you want this story?” She asks. “It would be a good chance for you. You should fight for it.” Seungmin looks at the sticky notes littering his computer: reminders for interviews, phone numbers and contacts, notes he needs to remember to add to his article. This _was_ supposed to be his chance - anything about a celebrity is hotly vied for and it had taken Seungmin two months of jumping through hoops before he had wrangled an interview with _the_ Lee Jaehyun, the Nation’s Little Brother. He was hoping his tenacity would show the higher-ups that he’s capable of taking on the bigger, better stories. 

It all seems a little silly now, something so trivial in the wake of the actor’s death. 

“No, it’s all right, sunbaenim.” He sighs a little, shrugging at Gayoon. “You’ve got more experience; you should handle it.” Since Seungmin has been working here, Gayoon has covered nine of the past celebrity deaths. She’s developed a sort of skin to deal with the collective grief that she reports on. A skin Seungmin does not have. “I can just wrap up what I ha-”

“Seungmin-ssi,” the director calls, “send Gayoon what you have so far. She can include it in her piece and we can kill two birds with one stone.” Everyone shifts uncomfortably at the wording, twenty pairs of eyes dancing between Seungmin and the director. 

“Actually, sir,” Seungmin speaks with backbone, betraying none of the nervousness that twists in his gut. He’s the newest here, and as such has grown accustomed to being screwed out of stories. His coworkers assure him that it’s always like this until someone new joins, but Seungmin really thinks Director Kim has some kind of personal vendetta against him. “Can I keep this one? I can turn it into a tribute to Jaehyun-nim.” The director blinks at Seungmin from across the room, mouth pulling into a line. He beckons Seungmin over. 

“What makes you think you should keep the story?” Director Kim asks bluntly, eyeing Seungmin. “You lost the interview.”

“But I got it in the first place, sir.” Behind his back, Seungmin fiddles with his hands. “And I can get others. I’ll be volunteering with one of his programs. He’s partnered with a pretty high profile hospital so-”

“Look, Seungmin-ssi-” Director Kim sounds less than impressed. “I understand that you’ve done a lot of work for this, but I’m telling you we’re going to wrap this all up with a big neat bow. Let Gayoon do what she does best and write a heart wrenching tribute that will appease his fans and remind us all that Lee Jaehyun was a beautiful soul, lost too soon. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Seungmin mutters. Director Kim’s eyes find the TV and his face changes into one of interest. Other people’s heads lift again and someone is turning up the volume. Seungmin turns to look as well. 

**BREAKING: HERO LINO INTERVENES IN HOSTAGE SITUATION, FACES OFF AGAINST NEW FIREPOWERED OPPONENT**

The camera films from far away, focused on two figures in the square outside of the national bank. Fire blazes in several of the windows and outside, Seungmin can hear sirens. The bank isn’t too far from here and as he looks out the window, he can dark smoke rising into the sky. 

“Times like this really make you wonder what happened to Hyunjae,” one of Seungmin’s coworkers says, eyes glued on the television as a pillar of fire explodes between Lino and his opponent. There’s a tremendous explosion that has everyone ducking for cover as the light it produces nearly blinds them all. The windows shake. 

“Lino isn’t bad,” someone else calls from under their desk. “He’s the most well known since Hyunjae disappeared”

“What’s he gonna do against a human flamethrower though?” Another explosion. Seungmin, crouching uncomfortably close to Director Kim, looks out the window. Fire glows in the sky, the waves of heat visible from here and the smell of smoke beginning to enter the building. The ground rumbles again, but this time instead of fire a wall of ice bursts into the skyline. The wavering, heated air stills immediately and the voice from the TV announces, _“Lino has put the fire out!”_

Seungmin pokes his head further from under the desk, craning it so he can see the screen better. Lino is easy to distinguish - dressed in blue and covering his face with a white mask, as he usually does, for one thing, and for another, not currently hurling fire at anyone. It’s summer, but snow falls around the pair, Lino’s frigid gift sending them into a tiny winter. He meets the fire head on with his ice, pushing back against it and stepping closer and closer to his opponent. Water drips steadily onto the pavement, increasing with each clash between the two of them. As it flows around the flame wielder’s feet and begins to steam, Lino stamps his foot into the puddle under his. Ice races through the water, wrapping around his opponent’s foot and steadily crawling up their leg. The fire falls away from Lino, instead trying to melt the ever growing icy prison. 

Seungmin’s coworker is right, of course. Technically, Lino should have a huge disadvantage against fire, even if he is considered the second best hero after Hyunjae. Yet, the ice holds strong even under such intense heat. Lino’s opponent screams so loudly that Seungmin doesn’t need the TV to hear it, but the anger and frustration that burns in their eyes is clear as day. They raise their hands towards Lino once again and this time the fire that explodes towards him is blue, reaching for him with long, burning tendrils. The fire turns the snow to rain.

It crashes against a shield of ice and from the angle the scene is shot, Lino can be seen flinching, as if he’s unsure it will hold. It feels like forever that they stay like this, hiding behind their powers. Like it’s Seungmin out there, he can feel sweat beading on his forehead. Cracks appear in the ice, slowly but surely. Lino’s hand rests on it, only to pull back like he’s been burned. Then, just when Seungmin thinks the fire will break through, it sputters and dies, pulling back into tiny, weak orange flames. The creeping ice has encased its target’s hands entirely, and now climbs up their neck. The shouting is the only weapon they have left and shout they do, flinging unintelligible curses at Lino and at the first responders arriving on the scene. 

Safe in their assumption that the danger is over, everyone crawls out from under their desks and fixes their hair and clothing, eyes sheepish though they were all in the same exact predicament. Seungmin and Director Kim choose not to look at each other at all. Chatter picks up again as the camera pans to the national bank and to the hostages being led out. For the most part, Seungmin’s coworkers stop paying attention now that the action has died down.

Lino’s towering ice wall shrinks the moment he touches it, back to the camera and shoulders hunched. He stays back, only purposefully returning on screen when the camera shows the fire wielder being arrested. Like every hero Seungmin can think of, Lino doesn’t give interviews. He shys away from the public eye, avoiding cameras and reporters even as they hound him. No one knows what he really looks like, or who he is. Only at times like this, when there’s no way for him to hide, do people even get to see the all powerful Lino. 

The camera zooms in on him as he walks away from the scene and tugs down the bottom of his mask to cough, trying desperately to catch a glimpse of the man beneath it, just as the media has been trying to do since Lino first popped up nine years ago and made a splash with his impressive, flashy Ability. They’re unsuccessful, as always; Seungmin can count the number of heroes’ faces revealed over the years on one hand. The angle isn’t good enough to catch anything more than his cheek and his arm as he coughs, but it’s enough that Seungmin, for some reason unable to tear his eyes away from the TV, catches the stark, dark stain of blood as it soaks into the crook of Lino’s elbow before the cameraman gives up and pans away. 

“I have a new assignment for you, Seungmin-ssi.” Director Kim brings Seungmin back to the office as he clears his throat, nodding to himself with a satisfied smile. 

“Sir?” 

“No.” Director Kim shakes his head. “I don’t think you’re up for it.”

“Sir,” Seungmin says more directly. “I can handle anything.”

“Well, if you’re sure…” Director Kim lights up like he always does when he’s discovered something new the company can sink its teeth into. “I want you to do an exposé.”

“Isn’t that a little…” Seungmin hesitates, “tabloid-y?” That’s not the kind of journalist Seungmin wants to be; he doesn’t think it’s right to get clout at the expense of someone’s private life.

“Consider it investigative journalism, Seungmin-ssi. You like that sort of thing, don’t you? It’s basically what you were doing with Lee Jaehyun.” Seungmin nods slowly, unsure but intrigued. “If you can do this, it’ll be a huge benefit to our company. I’ll even look into promoting you.” 

“Who am I investigating?” He treads carefully, mild discomfort with the situation still swirling in his gut (though, perhaps wrongly, less than before) even as the possibility of a promotion dangles tantalizingly over his head. 

Director Kim turns to the windows and stretches his arms out like he’s presenting the city to Seungmin.

“Who else other than mysterious top hero Lino, of course.”

  
  


In theory, Seungmin gets it. He gets that people love drama and nitty gritty details that they aren’t privy to, that they’re nosy by nature. He gets that, especially in this day and age, traffic is increasingly important for newspapers, and that gossip (or “word of mouth” as his superiors insist they call it) is a prime driver of it, right along with shock value. Fundamentally, Seungmin understands _why_ Director Kim is really pushing for this exposé. Heroes have always had such mystery around them, a constant cycle of new ones appearing and established ones vanishing without a trace. There are just enough of them to be interesting, but too few to be commonplace. A story about one will do great things for business - for clicks and shares online. Especially with a hero as famous yet elusive as Lino.

In theory, Seungmin doesn’t have to deal with all the weird feelings of guilt that come with writing such an article. 

In reality, however, he does. He hasn’t even started to look into Lino and already sharp guilt pokes at him at the idea of digging into him, of putting him under a microscope like he’s some science experiment rather than a person. Trying to talk it out with his friends doesn’t help either; Jisung, the most private person Seungmin knows, is vehemently against it, seems almost nervous as he shifts in his seat and his eyes dart around, while Hyunjin shrugs and says that public figures sign away a lot of their rights to privacy, right or wrong as it may be. Even the universally adored Lee Jaehyun, he points out, had had plenty of articles “exposing” his past or leaking pictures of him from time to time. 

Seungmin turns this over and over in his head as he drives to the hospital Friday after work. Without anything other than this exposé, he’s able to leave on time, unlike many of his coworkers, stuck working overtime to finish articles. It’s much easier to accept Hyunjin’s outlook than to dwell on the probable consequences. If he’s going to write the story anyway, he may as well not feel like a shitty person while doing it, right?

And if there is some higher power out there judging his deeds on this earth, maybe volunteering will balance out the horribly immoral choices he will be making. 

Yongdam Medical Center is like an old acquaintance. Though it’s been updated over the years with new chairs and paint and better equipment, Seungmin still remembers coming to visit his dad at work sometimes, still remembers when his mom would be on call and would have to bring him with her since he was too young to stay home alone. He has so many memories of sitting in the waiting room, trying not to fall asleep on the chairs as he waited for her (or, sometimes, for his dad’s shift to end), that they’ve all blurred together. Neither of his parents work here anymore, but he recognizes one of the nurses as he enters. She waves at him with a cheerful smile.

“My, my, if it isn’t little Seungminnie, all grown up.” Nurse Park - Yookyung-noona, as he’d always called her - pinches his cheeks fondly, just like she had when he’d been little. She’d often spent her free time watching him when he had been waiting for his parents and Seungmin had liked her quite well. If he got lucky, sometimes she’d buy him cake from the hospital cafe. “What brings you here? Hopefully nothing serious.”

“It’s good to see you noona,” he tells her. “I’m here to volunteer, actually.”

“Ah.” Nurse Park nods in understanding. “The Wish Program? Lee Jaehyun-nim’s foundation?” Seungmin hums. “Do you know where it is?”

“I was going to ask.” He rubs the back of his head and looks towards reception. 

“I’ll take you.” Nurse Park waves a hand. “I’m heading that way anyway; I have to bring a file up.” That’s how they end up in the elevator, stopping at every floor and smiling politely as they head to the 17th floor.

“How are your parents?” Nurse Park asks, breaking the stuffy silence everyone else is happy to keep. 

“They’re well.” Seungmin feels like he’s breaking an unspoken rule as he answers, as though he has disturbed the sanctity of the elevator. “Yours?”

“They’re doing all right. Can’t complain.” A pause. “I take it you’ve seen the news?” Seungmin raises a brow. They reach the sixteenth floor and the elevator is empty aside from them. “About Lee Jaehyun.”

“Yeah.” Seungmin grimaces. “It’s unfortunate. He was so young.”

“He had a good heart,” Nurse Park agrees. “This used to be the VIP ward, remember?" As the door opens, Seungmin does. His dad brought him up here once, when Seungmin was bored and begged to see what it looked like because it sounded so special. He'd only been allowed because it was empty - and it was empty most of the year. While Seungmin had been excited by the huge private rooms and the view (he'd caught sight of a playground in a park not far away), his dad had sighed and muttered something about it being a waste of money. 

The wing, now named the Hanbit ward, presumably after a character of the same name Lee Jaehyun had been playing in his last drama (a doctor, ironically), is no longer quite so empty. It isn't as busy or frantic as emergency, and not as large as many of the other floors, but there are nurses and patients there. The walls have been repainted from their yellowing white to a brighter one and there are fake plants placed up and down the hall, which livens it up about as much as one can expect in a hospital. Which, at the end of the day, it still is; the distinct smell of antiseptic clings to everything and the harsh lights make everything all too sterile. 

"Kim Seungmin?" A man at the front desk asks. He's dressed in formal clothes; clearly not a nurse. "I'm Lee Sangyeon - I'm in charge of Wish at Yongdam." 

"Nice to meet you." Seungmin bows. "I look forward to working with you, Sangyeon-nim." 

Sangyeon waves a hand. "You can just call me hyung, Seungmin. Sangyeon-nim makes me feel so old. Come on back." He gestures for Seungmin to follow him into a room behind the front desk, which turns out to be an office of sorts. In the center of a small table sits a basket of slips of paper, some white, some a pale blue, and a lone red one. A couple people are looking through them, typing things into computers before piling them off to the side. At a cluster of desks, a few others talk quietly on the phone. There's a spreadsheet of names on the wall, and another of finances. 

"I'm sure you already know, but Wish works with terminally ill patients to allow them to accomplish their last wishes at no cost to them. We're open to all ages, but many of our patients are adults." Sangyeon gives Seungmin a grim, sad smile, picking up a white paper. "Our full time employees handle a lot of the groundwork to organize things, especially for children-" he grabs a blue paper from the table to show Seungmin, "- but a lot of the wishes we receive are just asking for company during someone's last few moments. That's where a lot of our volunteers come in." Seungmin nods, fingers fiddling with a button on his coat. "Of course, if you would prefer to work with children, or help out here with paperwork and organization that's perfectly fine as well. We understand that it can be very difficult to be with someone while they die. You can also let us know your availability and the level of commitment you can put in, and we can match you up with a wish."

"What are the red slips for?" Seungmin asks abruptly. Sangyeon's brows raise up a tad. 

"The red slips?"

"White is for adults, blue is for children-" Seungmin points to the basket, where a red paper peeps out like blood in the snow. "So who's red for?" 

"They're for the special cases in the Hanbit ward," Sangyeon says, voice a little softer than before. "There aren't very many; this is only the third we've had so far. Jaehyun-nim actually started the program with them in mind." 

"What are the special cases?" Seungmin turns his head back towards the door. The few patients he'd seen milling around the halls hadn't looked especially sick. Only one had been wearing a hospital gown, someone had been in the process of checking out, and there had been a few people sat waiting in chairs, probably for appointments. All in all, they'd seemed to be mostly around his age. The prime of their lives as some people might say. 

"The Hanbit ward is for those suffering with Abilities," Sangyeon clarifies. "Currently, Yongdam is the only hospital in the country that has anything like it."

Abilities? Suffering? Sure, Seungmin knows they're not exactly _common_ and he's sure his parents had, in passing, mentioned something about drug trials for them, but he's always thought of them as a lifelong condition - manageable, if bothersome. He remembers a colleague of his parents had specialized in them, but Abilities have always been rather removed from his life. Seungmin rarely ever thinks about them unless someone like Lino or Hyunjae pops up in the news.

“I don’t know if you’re interested, but this wish isn’t very difficult,” Sangyeon tells him as he plucks the paper out of the pile and unfolds it, quickly scanning it. “It’s just… more involved than some of the others might be.” Seungmin is about to shake his head, to tell him that he works full time and can’t handle something with too much commitment, when Sangyeon’s brows shoot up a little in surprise.

“What is it?”

He turns the paper to Seungmin and there, in neat handwriting under **PATIENT NAME** , is written _Lino._

“I know some of the patients here prefer aliases for privacy reasons, but…” Sangyeon’s brows furrow deep. “I didn’t think…” 

“I can do this one,” Seungmin says. It’s so convenient, so _easy,_ it’s like the universe is dangling a one in a million chance right in his face; he would be an idiot not to take it. He can practically see his humanity as he balls it up and throws it aside.

“Oh, um,” Sangyeon blinks, startled from his thoughts. “Of course. We have to let him know that his wish is underway and send him some documents, but I’ll email you some of his relevant information - email, address, all that sort of stuff - when we get confirmation from him. There’s a few things I have to send you as well, so let me just-” He slides his phone out of his pocket and types a note into it. “Great! We’re currently working on a party for one of the girls in the oncology ward - it’s her birthday next week - so I can show you the ropes for some of the programs we use and introduce you to everyone. How does that sound?”

“Sure, I can help out with that.” Seungmin smiles easily. “I’m pretty good at planning.”

“Wonderful. Sunwoo-yah-” Sangyeon hands Seungmin the red paper and walks over to one of the people at the phones, leaving Seungmin behind momentarily. It burns in his hands, heavy like a gold medal. Seungmin makes his hand into a fist so he doesn’t have to look at Lino’s wish, so that he can tamp the swell of guilt that rises in his throat just a little while longer.

  
  


It’s the next weekend by the time everything is sorted out and Seungmin is pulling up to Lino’s apartment building. He’d taken the wish with so much confidence, but, now that he actually has to do it, he’s a lot less sure.

And feels a lot worse about it.

He checks his GPS one last time to make sure he’s in the right place before killing the engine and just sitting there for a second. The slip of paper crinkles as he pulls it out of his pocket and stares at it with sinking regret. Even with every tiny little crease, the ink still stares back at him, clear as day.

_A friend._

Lino’s one wish is a friend, and Seungmin is using it to fucking expose him. It’s so wrong. Lino hasn’t even done anything to deserve this. He might be a public figure, but the man behind the mask isn’t. Purposefully so. He has signed away his right to nothing.

So Seungmin has pretty much resigned himself to the fact that he’s sold his soul to do this. There’s definitely a special place in hell for people like him. He crumples the paper and tosses it in the glove box. Thinking about it isn’t going to make him a better person. 

As he takes the elevator up to Lino’s apartment, Seungmin can’t help but to feel like he’s been here before. Like someone he knows lives here, or nearby. Felix had an apartment not far away at some point, but he moved out a few years ago and Seungmin still remembers that building well, so surely it isn’t that. Jisung lives about 20 minutes away, but it’s definitely not his apartment that he’s thinking of. Seungmin has been there too many times to conflate the two places.

Maybe it’s just one of those weird cases of deja vu for a place you’ve never been.

3rd floor, 25th apartment. Lino lives at the very end of the building and the walk feels like forever. For some reason, Seungmin is nervous, though he’s never had a problem meeting new people. Outside Lino’s door, there’s a bowl of some kind of kibble and a bowl of water, which Seungmin only realizes is there after he steps in it and spills it all over his shoes and the floor. The bowl is made of colorful plastic and it echoes way too loudly for his taste. The door opens, just a tad, before he can even knock and one eye peers out from the crack looking at Seungmin, then down at the ground.

“Sorry!” Seungmin blurts. “I’m, uh, here from Wish. I’m Kim Seungmin. I didn’t see the water there.” Behind the door he hears some sort of sigh, almost amused sounding, then the sliding of a lock. The door opens more fully and Lino is-

“Minho-hyung?!” 

“And here I thought it was just a funny coincidence that you shared a name.” It’s been awhile since Seungmin’s seen Minho - even longer since he's really _looked_ at him - but he looks almost the same as he always has, if a little more haggard and worn down, a little more gaunt, like he's been stretched too thin. His eyes still have a playful gleam to them, outshining some of their general tiredness. “Long time no see, Seungminnie.” There’s a flash of movement behind him and quick as lightning Minho bends down and scoops up a ball of gray and white fluff. “Not today, you little devil.” He scolds a lithe tabby cat, now wriggling in his arms as it vehemently protests this development. “Close the door behind you,” he tells Seungmin, jerking his head to gesture Seungmin inside and turning around.

“Sorry again,” Seungmin says. “About the water.” He quickly takes his wet shoes off. Minho deposits the cat on the couch and it immediately turns its back to him as he moves to pick up some cat toys from the floor. Two others lift their heads from the cat tree they’re lounging on and meow in what almost feels like a greeting. Seungmin stands awkwardly in the doorway, looking around the apartment and taking stock of the surprisingly neat living area. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Minho shrugs. “It happens at least once a week.” He turns and looks back at Seungmin. “You can come in, you know. Do you want anything to drink?”

“Water’s fine.” Minho waves him over to the couch and Seungmin eyes the gray tabby warily as it looks at him with huge eyes. 

“He doesn’t bite,” Minho calls. “He’s just sort of skittish. Don’t take it personally if he runs.” Still, Seungmin takes a careful seat on the opposite end and the two of them look at each other in tense silence. The TV plays softly in the background. 

The cat darts when Seungmin reaches out to take his glass of water from Minho and Minho shakes his head fondly before flopping onto the couch. He turns up the volume a little, probably to make the silence between him and Seungmin less _silent,_ and the two of them stare at the news screen that pops up.

**ACTOR LEE JAEHYUN LAID TO REST, CROWDS MOURN**

Once more, a newscaster talks over videos of the actor, cut with shots of the black clad crowd at his funeral. Seungmin shifts uncomfortably, but Minho just watches it with a too blank expression. 

“He was a good guy,” he says eventually.

“You knew him?” Seungmin blinks in surprise.

Minho shrugs in the ambiguous way that almost always means yes. “‘ _I’m your past, present, and future, Lee Jaehyun’”_ he quips just as a clip from an old interview says the same thing. “Jaehyun. Hyunjae. He thought it was funny since he could control time.” Once more, Seungmin just blinks.

“What?”

“He was Hyunjae, Seungminnie,” Minho tells him more plainly. 

“Are you allowed to tell me that?” Seungmin furrows his brows. 

“What does it matter?” Minho shrugs half-heartedly, a half baked attempt at a smile on his face. It seems more sad than anything. “It’s not like it can hurt him; he’s dead anyway.”

“I guess that’s true.” One of Minho’s other cats leaps onto the couch and settles onto his lap, purring as it rubs its head against his hand. He scratches it gently behind the ears and its eyes close contentedly. 

“So,” Seungmin says after a while, figuring he may just get the elephant in the room out of the way, “you’re Lino.”

“Yup.”

Seungmin does the math. “Since highschool?”

“Yup.”

“And you’ve never been found out?”

“Nope. You really didn’t realize it was me when you drove up? You came here for my housewarming party.”

“Yeah, like four years ago.” Seungmin purses his lips a little. It’s not that he doesn’t like Minho. Honestly, they’ve known each other so long that it would be weird to not have Minho’s presence in his life, even if only in the periphery. Sure, they haven’t been that close since middle school (when he met Hyunjin and Minho met Jisung), the two of them pushed to opposite ends of their circle of friends as it grew, and he hasn’t actually talked to Minho since university (even on the rare occasion that all eight of them manage to meet up, he and Minho mostly interact by proxy), but it’s not because they especially dislike each other or anything. Their friendship is a bit like constant growing pains - always reminding them that they’re changing, but not necessarily in a bad way. At the very least, though they’ve grown apart, they haven’t outgrown each other entirely. 

But Seungmin and Minho’s relationship is a bit of an outlier among their friends, and he’s sure most - if not all - of the others still contact him regularly. He glances over hesitantly. “You know you have friends, right hyung?”

“Yeah,” Minho sighs, tilting his head up to the ceiling. “I know. I just… no one knows about this. Not really. I didn’t want to burden them with it. Out of everyone, I'm kind of glad it's you.” He turns his head and cracks a smile at Seungmin. “Guess life works in funny ways. I’ve got plans, Seungmin-ah.”

“Hyung, I work full time.” 

“Ah, that’s right. You’re all grown up now, I forgot,” Minho says teasingly. Seungmin rolls his eyes.

“What? And you don’t work? I thought Jisung said you were a vet or something.”

“I quit last week.” Minho raises a brow at Seungmin. “Though I prefer the term _retired_ _early_.” They fall silent again, the cat in Minho’s lap yawning and curling up tighter and the TV playing a colorful, cheery commercial. 

“I don’t think you being a hero is a burden.” Seungmin’s voice is quiet. “Or having an Ability.”

“That’s reassuring, thanks,” Minho speaks to the ceiling again, a hint of amusement to his voice, “but you know that I meant the fact that I’m going to die, right?”

“Oh, fuck.” Seungmin goes red and stumbles over his words. Stupid. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be insensitive. I honestly forgot, hyung.” Luckily, Minho isn’t angry at all. In fact, he starts laughing.

“You _forgot?”_ He wheezes, shaking so much his cat leaps off in annoyance. 

“Honest!” Seungmin insists. His ears burn. At least one of them finds this entertaining. “I was so caught up in everything else that-”

“No, don’t explain.” Minho wipes a tear from his eye. “It’s fine.” For a second, Seungmin thinks he’s calmed down, but Minho devolves into another fit of giggles almost as soon as he’s stopped laughing. 

“Hyung,” Seungmin whines, Minho’s laughter getting to him as well. It would be impolite to laugh.

“You forgot,” Minho repeats through hiccups, fanning himself and trying desperately to get himself under control. 

“God, why don’t you just kill me?” Seungmin groans. “I’m not living this down, am I?”

“Not as long as I’m around.” Minho shakes his head, wiping both eyes now and placing his hands to his red face as if to cool it down. Actually, that's probably exactly why.

“It’s not funny.” Seungmin hits Minho’s leg lightly.

“Hey, if anyone gets to laugh about it, it’s me,” Minho says brightly, eyes sparkling. The atmosphere between them feels more natural now, so maybe Seungmin’s mistake was good for something, even if it was at the expense of his dignity. “Now, we have to go over something very important.” His face goes serious and Seungmin freezes up a little. Then Minho breaks into a grin. “I have to introduce you to my cats!” Oh, thank God. “Now, you should already know Soonie and Doongie from when we were little-”

“You had two cats when we were little?” 

Minho stares at Seungmin. “If you’re going to say shit like that you can leave now, Seungmin-ah.” He looks dead serious about it too. Seungmin backtracks.

“Oh, yeah, my bad. I must have been thinking of someone else.” In his defense, they look so similar that if you gave him a picture of both of them, he’d say they’re the same. 

“And then last year I got Dori. He’s a little bit of an escape artist and he’s only really comfortable with me, but-”

Seungmin doesn’t leave until Minho has given him detailed biographies of all three cats, told him all of their likes and dislikes, and has quizzed him on which is which no less than a dozen times. They agree to meet sometime during the week, after Seungmin’s work, so that Minho can tell him about his plans and how he wants Seungmin to help. He also makes Seungmin promise to not tell the others that he’s Lino. 

He especially makes him promise not to tell them he’s dying. 

In fact, as Minho says, Seungmin should just not mention him at all. Shouldn’t be a problem seeing as the two of them are only ever brought up to each other by their friends.

But he also apologizes to Seungmin. For making him keep something so big and heavy all to himself. Even as Seungmin points out that he chose to, that he knew it wouldn’t be sunshine and rainbows from the get go, Minho apologizes and thanks him with earnesty Seungmin rarely remembers seeing in school. 

When he sits at his computer that night, blank word document open, all he feels is guilt. Enough that he is drowning in its depths. A new email from Director Kim pings on his phone and from just a glance at the subject line, Seungmin can already tell it will only make him feel even worse. His deadline is in a month. The promotion and respect he wants hinges on this. Yet every time Seungmin so much as tries to type something, he just can’t bring himself to.

 _“What does it matter?”_ Minho’s voice echoes in his head. _“It’s not like it can hurt him; he’s dead anyway.”_

Maybe Seungmin really is a terrible person.

After nearly four hours of nothing, 1am hits and Seungmin closes his laptop with a frustrated groan, then thuds his head against his desk and stares at the flecks of hot sauce that somehow got on his socks during his dinner for all too many minutes. When he finally throws himself in bed, he dreams of Abilities and heroes, of Minho back when they had been best friends, playing together in Seungmin’s house, and a world in which the thought of death is nothing but a far off concept.

  
  


“You could call it a bucket list, I guess,” Minho says, poking at the meat on the grill between them. “It’s nothing big, but I have to do it.” His face sets in concentration and he purposefully seems to avoid looking at Seungmin. “I try to live without regrets; may as well die without them too.”

Seungmin’s water is hard as a rock in his throat. “Makes sense.” When Minho doesn’t continue, he adds, “So what do you want me to do?”

“I need a chauffeur.” Minho gives him a half smile. “And I figure having you there might make things less suspicious. And awkward.”

“And you couldn’t just hire a driver?” Seungmin picks up a piece of meat and nearly burns off his tongue. “Shit, that’s hot.” Minho laughs and blows on his own piece, breath coming out in a white puff. Even across the table, Seungmin can feel a cold breeze. 

“Seems just right to me,” Minho says with a wink. 

“Show off.” Seungmin rolls his eyes. 

“No, I can’t just ‘hire a driver.’ That would make things so weird.”

“How would it be different from a stranger? It’s not like you knew it was me who’d be helping you.”

“We wouldn’t be strangers.” Minho pouts at him like a child. “I said friend, didn’t I? I’d make sure we were.”

“Yeah, and I still don’t really get why,” Seungmin says. 

“I told you-”

“No, I know what you said. That’s not an explanation. I already told you it wouldn’t be a burden on them; they’d want to know.”

“Look, can we _not_ talk about that right now?” Minho’s jaw tenses. “I have my reasons, Seungminnie. I’m not stupid.”

“No, but I don’t think you’re in your right mind. You’re dying, hyung,” Seungmin’s voice goes much softer. “That’ll fuck anyone up.”

“It’s whatever.” Minho shrugs, mouth twisted in an irritated frown. Seungmin gives an equally hard frown at the grill, fingers tapping the table to alleviate the weight of silence. 

“You’re awfully okay with it,” he observes. 

“Yeah, well, there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ve had a long time to come to terms with it - did the whole therapy thing when I was younger and all that jazz. I’m more worried about my parents if I’m honest.” Minho looks down at the table. “And you guys.” He looks back up at Seungmin and smiles without any joy. “Good thing we’re not close, huh?” Seungmin just stares at him. “Anyways, can you take time off?”

Seungmin almost considers saying no, but he reminds himself that Minho’s not just doing this to fool around. “I have some vacation days, yeah.”

“Great. Can you figure out days when everyone is free?”

“You can do that yourself,” Seungmin scoffs. “I’m not your personal assistant.”

“No, they’ll think something’s up if I do that.” Minho pouts again. “I want everything to be a surprise.”

“You still haven’t told me what ‘everything’ is.”

“Surprise,” Minho reminds him with a crafty smile. “I’m still planning it, anyway. I’m not making you do _all_ the work.”

“You’re so benevolent,” Seungmin deadpans. “Wow, what an upstanding citizen.”

“Hey, I _am_.” Minho kicks him under the table. “I do the hero shit for free.” Seungmin must make some sort of face because after a short pause he adds, “It really doesn’t have to be a big deal.” 

He would say that. It’s his life, his reality. Being Lino is just another part of him, like being a vet, or being his parent’s son, just one of the many hats he wears. But for Seungmin, Lino has always been such an untouchable, far away person - seen only on TV or in a video, spoken about only in high regards and built up to truly feel like the hero he is. It’s not as easy as Minho makes it sound to just see them as the same person.

It also reminds him of his deadline and of his still empty document, then of the crushing regret. 

“Sorry,” Minho says after Seungmin doesn’t respond. He seems confused, clearly unsure what he’s apologizing for, but feeling the need to regardless. 

“Ah, no, really hyung-” But Minho is already waving down their waitress to pay and Seungmin bites his cheek. 

“It wasn’t because you’re Lino,” Seungmin clarifies the second they get in his car. 

“Seems like it is though?” How exactly is Seungmin supposed to explain that, well, it sort of is, but it mostly isn’t. That it’s not the hero thing that’s the issue, but Seungmin’s own shitty choices. 

“It’s not,” he emphasizes. “Honestly.”

“Okay.” Minho accepts it with an easy shrug. 

“Do you really do it for free?” Seungmin asks after a pause.

“Yeah. It’s not a job or anything, and it’s hard to get paid if you’re anonymous.” Minho hums thoughtfully. “I can’t think of any of us off the top of my head that do it for money - that's more the people who join the fight circuits - but everyone’s got their reasons.”

“Hm.” They drive into the setting sun, the rippling puddles of orange light on the road ahead. It’s peaceful, calm, until Minho breaks into a coughing fit that sounds much less than healthy.

“Hyung-”

“I’m- fine-” He coughs out jaggedly, waving Seungmin away, but the tears in his eyes say otherwise. Minho fishes a tissue out of his pocket and Seungmin has half a mind to pull over as he continues to hack and wheeze. Just as signals that he’s doing so, Minho seems to get it back under control, tissue pressed to his mouth and chest still shuddering as he tries to regain the breath he’d lost. He looks significantly worse than he had mere moments ago, looks nothing like the normal self he’d been in the restaurant. Seungmin can see the flecks of blood when he pulls away the tissue, Minho unable to crumple it fast enough.

“Minho-hyung…” He tries to think of what to say, but all Seungmin does is come up empty. 

“It’s fine,” Minho says through a deep breath. “It happens.”

It _shouldn’t_ be fine. Seungmin has no doubt Minho already knows that. 

“How long have you known?” He asks quietly, eyes fixed on the road ahead so he doesn’t have to face facts. 

“I’ve had a feeling since this time last year, been getting worse since the winter. I only found out for sure after that thing at the bank; sort of became impossible to ignore.” Minho is quiet for a moment. “But I’ve known since I was 7. Not concretely, but I knew.”

“7?” Seungmin echoes. 

“They don’t sugarcoat it. You’re sick and confused; they tell you you’ve got an Ability and then they tell you they’re sorry.” Minho glances at Seungmin. “You probably don’t remember, but I was at your house the day I found out. Your mom had to take me to the hospital.”

When he says it, it does spark a memory to life in Seungmin’s mind. Not much of one, but little bits and pieces so superimposed that even almost 20 years later, he hasn’t forgotten them entirely. A blanket fort, Minho passed out, flushed and sweating underneath it, yelling for his mom. A hospital, holding his mom’s hand in the waiting room, someone crying. 

“You were sick a lot in elementary school,” he recalls. Almost two decades and none of them knew. Right under his nose and _he_ never knew.

“Yeah,” Minho sighs.

“Do you know how long you have left?” Seungmin’s almost afraid to ask, afraid to know. But living in a sort of limbo feels worse. 

“The doctor says a month, maybe a little less. Maybe a little longer, if I’m lucky.” Minho gives him a lopsided grin. “I don’t think I will be, if I’m honest.”

A month.

A _month._

Like he has every day at work and every night since Saturday, Seungmin stares at a blindly white document without making any progress. The blinking cursor mocks him. He almost feels the urge to sweep everything off his desk and onto the floor, to hear the satisfying crash of his laptop and clattering of his pencils, to hear his mug shatter on the ground. It’s not frustration. No, he’s _angry_. He’s pissed, and he doesn’t know why. His phone pings with responses from his friends, telling him when they’re free, but Seungmin throws his phone on the bed rather than looking at them. 

Rather than stare at what eats away at him, he opens a new tab and searches instead for Abilities. A lot of the information he gets is pretty standard, listing it as a “lifelong condition,” but it takes only the addition of the word _death_ to his search to yield the results he expected. Support groups for parents and those afflicted alike, articles on how to talk to children about their inevitable deaths, blog posts, research on drug trials. He clicks on a page run by some doctor who specializes in working with people who suffer from the disease.

She specifically calls it that. It sounds much worse than “condition.”

Seungmin clicks over to the FAQ, not really sure he wants to know more. But he has an almost morbid curiosity now, and he wants to at least know something. Asking Minho feels weird, almost intrusive. Though he would probably tell him, Seungmin doesn’t want to pick at a scabbed over wound.

**Are Abilities genetic?**

_We aren’t sure what causes Abilities yet, though some evidence supports the theory that they are possibly the result of a mutation to the genetic code. Parents often feel as though they are to blame for their child’s affliction, but many scientists believe that this is an acquired mutation._

**How will I know if my child has an Ability?**

_Abilities begin to express themselves in early childhood, when children are between 6 and 8 years old. Most children present with dangerously high fevers and become extremely ill as their body tries to rebalance itself; this may continue for several years. A blood test can confirm whether or not your child has an Ability._

Seungmin skims a lot of the page, since most of it seems to be directed at parents and is more about the childhood aspect of things. It doesn’t help his current situation. 

**Can I live a normal life?**

_Yes - individuals with Abilities can live much the same as everyone else. Though you might monitor your health more closely, in most cases, your Ability will not hinder you. Many who live with them learn to use them to their advantage. Some medications may mitigate effects on the body, particularly in young children._

**What is the life expectancy for someone with an Ability?**

_Abilities are considered a progressive disease. While it varies from person to person, the life expectancy for those afflicted is early to mid 30s._

30s? Minho hasn’t even had his 26th birthday yet.

_Progression may be exacerbated by continuous or extreme use of one’s Ability._

Seungmin reads and rereads it, like that will somehow change his understanding of it.

**Is there a cure?**

_Unfortunately, there is presently no cure for Abilities._

Seungmin shuts the tab and lets out a deep breath, staring out the window at the crescent moon that cuts the sky right open. He feels oddly weightless; floating within the world, stuck in his apartment like it's a fishbowl. At the same time, he feels so heavy; as though he’s anchored to the floor by some unexplainable gravitational pull. Finally, he knows what to write.

  
  
  
  


Minho’s bucket list has seven things on it: beach, amusement park, karaoke, mountain, restaurant, Busan, Jeju. Seungmin points out that, since he’s been to all of these places (and most of them aren’t even specific), it’s not _really_ a bucket list at all. Minho tells him that he’s no fun at all and that they’re going to the beach on Sunday.

(“Hyung, you can’t even swim!”

“That’s beside the point, Seungmin-ah!")

Felix is the first.

He seems really surprised to see Seungmin in the driver’s seat when he bounds out of his apartment building on Sunday, sunglasses resting in beach blond hair and a towel in hand.

“Hey, Seungmin,” he says when he gets in the car, though it sounds almost like a question. 

“Hey, Felix,” Seungmin snorts.

“I thought you guys hated each other? You like, never talked to each other when we hung out.” Minho and Seungmin glance at each other. Felix had only moved here in university, when the two of them had been on polar opposites of their circle of friends. 

“We don’t hate each other,” Minho laughs. “Seungminnie and I were best friends when we were little.”

“Oh, huh.” Felix’s seatbelt clicks. “That’s cool. Didn’t know you were coming, Seungmin.”

“I needed a chauffeur,” Minho responds, raising a leg to prop it on Seungmin’s dashboard. It earns him a prompt smack. “Ow, okay. Be nice to me for God’s sake.”

“I’m not really coming. I’m literally just here to drive.” Seungmin glances in his mirror. “He’s not even paying me, Felix. Save me.”

“What happened to your car, hyung?” Felix asks, fighting a grin as Minho hits Seungmin’s shoulder in retaliation. 

“Sold it; I don’t really need it anymore.”

“Oh, really?” Felix’s brows raise. “How come?” Out of the corner of his eye, Seungmin sees Minho grimace a little. 

“Well, you know.” Minho shrugs. “Trying to cut down on my carbon footprint, and it’s cheaper to take the subway.”

“Hey, good for you, hyung! That’s pretty big.” Felix smiles and pats Minho on the shoulder, as bright as he always is. The mood in the car hadn’t been bad before, but it’s infinitely better now, especially when Felix hooks his phone up to the speaker. He and Seungmin duet with reckless abandon. Minho joins in as well, with a stupidly happy and fond smile, dancing as best as he can from his sitting position. Seungmin doesn’t even say anything when he puts his leg up a second time and opens the window to let the warm summer air blow through their hair. It feels like an endless, ageless moment, caught in the amber of the sunlight sparkling on the water. 

When the GPS finally announces that they’ve reached their destination, Felix’s smile lights up again. 

“I haven’t been here in ages.” He looks over at Minho, currently in the process of putting sunscreen on his face. “It’s the same beach, right?” Minho hums in confirmation. “Brings back memories,” Felix says as he steps out of the car, arms outstretched as the sea breeze hits him and his towel flutters in the wind. 

“You good?” Seungmin catches Minho’s arm just before he opens the door. He’d seemed mildly breathless when they’d stopped, even from just singing and dancing along in his seat, and even if coughing up blood “happens,” Seungmin would rather it didn’t. 

“I’m fine.” Seungmin looks at Minho more closely. “I took something that’ll help. Don’t worry; I don’t want to freak Felix out.” 

Seungmin puts up no more of a fight than that. Minho is an adult; capable of making his own choices. Right now, Seungmin’s just along for the ride (or, more accurately he supposes, he is the ride), watching everything play out like a movie in front of him. The water glitters a rich teal, the sand a soft gold, and the sky above is a clear, almost oversaturated blue. He lays down a towel under an umbrella some ways back from where Felix and Minho are near the edge of the water. He had agreed not to be involved much in… whatever Minho’s doing. 

Though Seungmin has an inkling. 

Felix seems to be unsuccessfully coaxing Minho into the water, head thrown back in a laugh. Eventually, he’s able to get him to inch into waist deep water before Felix dives into deeper waves. He never strays too far from Minho, who remains still as a statue, arms folded in unwillingness. Content that things are all right, Seungmin lays down and shuts his eyes, just for a moment. The warm sun envelops him like a soft blanket and time feels utterly meaningless.

Next thing he knows, something hits him square in the face and he sits up in confusion to see someone’s beach ball rolling away from him, a mother shouting apologies at him as she grabs her toddlers’ hands and pulls them away, scolding them. The sun is lower now. Minho and Felix are no longer in the water and as Seungmin rubs sleep from his eyes, he catches them near the pier, food in hand. They’ve paused and though they’re too far away for Seungmin to have any hope of lip reading (not that he’s any good at it anyway, vocabulary mostly limited to _drink, outside, leave, bathroom, throw up_ , and things of that nature from college parties) but he can see the attentive, serious face Felix is making at Minho and can surmise enough. He blinks, and Felix is hugging Minho tightly. 

“We got you food,” Minho announces when they reach Seungmin, handing him a pretzel and a corndog. “Did our Seungminnie sleep well?” He coos, an annoying glint in his eyes. It’s like he has to balance out being nice to him or something. 

“I’m not sunburned or anything, am I?” Seungmin asks Felix, shoving Minho’s legs and sending him tumbling into the sand. 

“Nah, you’re good.” Felix seems really normal. Happy as earlier even. It’s kind of odd; he’s the sort to wear his heart on his sleeve. But he continues to chatter happily to Minho, like nothing has happened at all. Even when they drop Felix off at home, he departs with a “See you later, hyung! Seungminnie! We should do it again sometime!”

Minho almost seems to melt into the seat when Felix is out of sight, like all the exhaustion from the day is catching up to him. His jaw is tensed, like he’s teetering on the verge of being sick. 

“What did you say earlier?” Seungmin asks with fake lightness.

“Told him about my Ability, said I was Lino.” Minho sighs. “I couldn’t tell him,” he mumbles. “He was so happy… he has such good memories with the beach… I couldn’t do it.”

“Why the beach?” Seungmin steers them towards an easier topic.

“You remember how Felix seemed really sad for a while when he first moved here?” Seungmin nods. “I figured he was homesick, so I took him to the beach in the hopes that it would make him feel better.” Minho sighs again, more wistfully. “It was a good day.” 

“You’ve gotta tell him, hyung,” Seungmin says at the last stoplight before Minho’s apartment. 

“I know.” Minho picks at the hem of his shorts. “I know.”

_Mountain_ corresponds to Chan, Minho explains in the car two days later. He’d taken Minho hiking one year after their semesters had left them feeling utterly worn out and defeated, wrung out by each and every one of their finals, and the crisp winter air and rich green trees had reminded them that they were alive, the sparkling snow that there were simple, beautiful things to live for, and that life doesn’t revolve around the flat, black and white pages of a textbook. Though it’s summer now, not winter, and college no longer has either of them in a chokehold, Minho says that the two of them had talked about coming back anyway. 

“I wish it could have been winter,” he says to Seungmin. “It was supposed to be; it’s nicest in the winter. I guess this will have to do.”

He doesn’t need to say it for them to hear the sobering _“I don’t have that long.”_

As they pull into the parking lot, Chan gets out of his own car and waves to them. They wave back, and Minho quickly pulls some kind of medicine ( _Duoxi_ -something, if Seungmin sees correctly) out of his backpack and pops a couple of pills in his mouth, knocking them back with his water. Seungmin doesn’t ask about it, but Minho glances over at him anyway. “They’re supposed to help,” he mumbles, throwing the rest back in his bag quickly, oddly defensive. “If Chan-hyung asks, I had a headache.”

“Okay.” Seungmin pulls his emergency brake. “If you can’t hike, I’m sure hyung would understand.”

“I’m hiking,” Minho says with finality, face set in stony determination. He grabs an old, navy cap proudly emblazoned with their university’s initials, and shoves it on his head before getting out of the car and yelling to Chan. “Hey, hyung!”

“Hey, Minho-yah!” Chan walks over and pulls Minho into a hug and slaps him on the back. “Good to see you. Glad we’re finally doing this - work’s been busting my ass the past few months.” He looks over Minho’s shoulder, startled when Seungmin’s car beeps as it’s alarmed. "Hi, Seungminnie." He steps away from Minho to hug Seungmin as well. "Not really dressed for hiking, are you?" Chan asks in a mix of amusement and curiosity. 

“Oh, I’m not, hyung.” Seungmin glances up the mountain. “That’s all you and Minho-hyung. I’ll be enjoying myself at the cafe.” 

“Here.” Chan tosses him his wallet. “It’s on me, since you drove all the way out here. Get something good.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” Seungmin tosses it back with an easy smile. “Minho-hyung already offered up his card.” He sticks out a hand, fingers beckoning towards himself. “Hand it over.” Minho makes a big show of sighing and handing his wallet over reluctantly.

“Don’t lose it,” he threatens good naturedly as the three of them walk towards the base of the trail.

“Oh no,” Seungmin says emotionlessly, holding his hand out over the trashcan nearby, “looks like it got thrown away by accident. How did that happen?”

“I see you two haven’t changed,” Chan snorts, pulling Minho away as he tries to lunge for his wallet. “Buy us something too?”

“Just for you, hyung.” Seungmin opens Minho’s wallet and flicks through the bills. “Text me on your way down.”

“Asshole,” Minho grumbles as Seungmin parts ways with them and briefly, Seungmin pauses, wallet clutched tightly in his hand. Is he going overboard? Maybe they aren’t close enough for that anymore. Maybe he’s taking Minho’s month too much for granted. He doesn’t mean to. Really. He hadn’t thought Minho would want him to treat him differently, but…

The coffee he orders is too hot for the weather. It burns his mouth and gives him little relief. 

Seungmin doesn’t know how else to treat Minho. This feels like they’re settling back into their old rhythm, easy and practiced. Almost all of the time Seungmin spends with him he seems so perfectly fine that it would feel wrong to treat him as anything else. 

Maybe he should be nicer. He would be lying if he said he didn’t regret the barbed playfulness that he’s so used to falling back on. Minho doesn’t seem bothered, often instigating it with his acerbic tongue, but nonetheless Seungmin wonders. Worries. 

It doesn’t seem right, given the situation. 

But he always concludes that it doesn’t feel wrong either, even though he thinks it should. He wishes he could figure out why, what it is about this that makes it so easy to be like always.

 _On our way back_ , Chan texts him after only about half an hour. Seungmin raises a brow at the message. He’d thought the trail was longer and sure, Minho and heights don’t go hand in hand, but they can’t be that far up the mountain right now. Besides, he’s done the whole thing before. 

Something sinks in Seungmin’s stomach.

What if something’s happened, if Minho’s cough has reared its ugly head again?

Or something worse.

The barista has to call his name three times for his order before Seungmin realizes it. He chooses a new table near the window so that he can better see the mouth of the trail leading up to the trees and his fingers tap impatiently, nervously, on the wood. Time feels longer like this, the condensation on the water bottles slowly dripping onto the table. Seungmin’s hot coffee turns lukewarm in his hand and the paper flimsy from where his fingers sweat against it.

When he finally spots familiar figures, they seem more like one than two. Minho has an arm thrown over Chan's shoulder, leaning on him as he half hops, half limps down the gentle slope. There's no sense of urgency, so at least that settles Seungmin a little. They continue like this all the way down to the parking lot, where Seungmin loses them from his angle, only to reappear in the door of the cafe minutes later. Seungmin waves at them, and Chan deposits Minho in a chair before falling heavily into one himself, rubbing his shoulders. 

"I've seen videos of you doing crazy shit in action and not getting so much as a scratch, but you step on one pebble and _that_ takes you down?" He grabs one of the water bottles and drinks about half of it without even pausing to breathe. 

"Okay, it was not a pebble, " Minho insists, pouting at Chan. He barely seems to have broken a sweat and is more leisurely in opening his water. "It was at _least_ fist sized. And I really stepped on it wrong." He only takes a couple sips before he makes a face. From beneath the contact points of his fingers, tiny shards of ice bloom in the water. He drinks more gratefully this time, a content sigh as he closes the bottle and presses it to his face and neck, water entirely frozen. Though it's only just visible, easy to miss if you aren't right there, his breath turns white as it meets the hot air. 

"No wonder your hands were always freezing," Chan mumbles around the mouth of his bottle, taking another gulp. "You loved that winter hike so much too." His brows pinched minutely. "It wasn't too hot for you, right? No heat stroke or anything? You did look a little faint when you tripped." Minho waves him off.

"Hyung, I'm fine. Which one of us is sweating buckets right now? I deal with heat better than you," he points out. "I just prefer the cold. I'm sure someone with a fiery Ability would prefer this sort of weather." 

"We really never noticed, huh?" Chan sighs. He glances at Seungmin and a wax bag he has in front of him. "Is there food in there?" 

"Oh, yeah." Seungmin offers up two croissants belatedly. "I didn't know what you wanted so I just bought these. I figured that was safe." 

"Thanks." Chan grins at him and takes one. Minho does as well, but focuses more on picking apart the flaky dough than eating it. 

"I didn't use my Ability much around you guys," he finally says with a shrug. "If I did I never made it obvious. I was always taught to keep it to myself, keep it in the family. I think most of us are." 

"Huh," Chan says thoughtfully. "Wonder why." Minho glances up and Seungmin glances at him. He can take a few guesses. If any time were the perfect time to tell Chan it would be now, when the conversation has naturally flowed to the topic. 

"It's shameful to a lot of parents," Minho says instead. "It’s got nothing to do with them, but they feel guilty for ruining your life. So even though it's not your fault either, you just sort of learn it's best to save face and not talk about it." 

"Well, I appreciate you telling me." Chan smiles reassuringly and pats Minho's shoulder a couple of times. Then his phone goes off and the smile falls as he glances at the caller ID. "It's work - sorry, I've gotta take this." 

"Hyung-" Seungmin starts when Chan is out of earshot. 

"It's hard, Seungmin-ah." Minho sounds tired and beaten down, his eyes fixed on the broken croissant in front of him. "You don't know how hard it is." 

No. Seungmin can only imagine. He hopes he never has to know. 

"You have to tell him." He already feels like a broken record as he repeats what he had told Minho not even two days ago. 

"I know." 

The world revolves around the sun, night chases day, and Seungmin and Minho go in circles. 

"Hey, sorry." Chan returns with a regret laden grimace. "They need me to come in." 

"Don't worry about it." Minho stands with a small smile, wincing a little at the weight on his ankle. "I was actually going to suggest heading out soon. Maybe it's a good thing I missed that rock, huh? Otherwise we'd be rushing back down." 

"Yeah, I guess I should thank you for being unobservant," Chan teases lightly. "Do you want a piggyback ride to the car? Like the old days."

"No, I think I can manage." Minho looks at Seungmin, then at his arms. "Though maybe you should be my crutch. I don't know if Seungmin has that much strength." 

"I resent that," Seungmin grumbles, sweeping Minho's disaster of a croissant into the bag. 

"You haven't worked out a day in your life," Minho retorts, but there's no heat to it. The three of them begin the walk (or hop, in Minho’s case) to Seungmin's car.

"That's not true. I carried Friday night trivia on my damn back for two years. You all would have been nothing without me." Minho laughs. 

"Fair enough." 

Chan sends them both off with the same strong, back slapping hugs he had greeted them with and Seungmin has half a mind to ask Minho to ice his back when he gingerly leans against his seat, internally wincing a little as he waves to Chan with a smile. 

The smile is gone the moment Chan turns his back and Minho starts coughing. It does sound less severe than the last time, however, so Seungmin assumes that whatever he's taking is helping at least a little. He alternates between hitting between Minho's shoulders and rubbing his back in what he hopes is a soothing way. He's not sure which would help more. 

Minho's coughing dies down without any blood, so Seungmin will take that as a win. Still, he leans forward, arms propped on his knees and his head bowed and he breathes in and out carefully. Seungmin's hand just rests on his back, utterly unsure what it should do now. 

"Can you take me to the hospital?" He asks eventually and Seungmin's chest tightens in a panic. 

"Is it that bad?" 

Minho looks at him out the corner of his eye. "It's unrelated. I have an appointment." At long last, he sits up slowly. "You worry too much." 

Is there really such a thing when things are as they are? 

"Did you really trip?" Seungmin asks as he starts the car. "Not that I think you're faking, but if you felt bad it would be an easy way out." 

"Embarrassed to say that I did, in fact, trip." Minho sighs. "Chan-hyung wasn't entirely wrong though. I blacked out for a second, which is why I didn't see it in the first place." 

"You blacked out?"

"Just for a second." Minho shrugs. "It-"

"Happens." Seungmin finishes for him, unhappy edge to it. 

"Exactly." 

They're quiet for a few minutes, the city growing ever larger through the windshield. 

"Do you want me to pick you up too?" Seungmin asks. 

"No, don't worry about it." 

"It's no trouble," Seungmin says. 

"Thanks for the offer, but it's really fine." Minho looks down at his lap. "I can get home on my own just fine." 

So Seungmin drops it. Minho may not say it - he would never say it - but his everything practically screams _I want to be alone._

Maybe he shouldn’t be - maybe Seungmin should insist on staying with him, on being there for him. 

“Okay,” he says quietly. “Call if you need anything.” Minho turns up the radio and they drive the rest of the way in silence. 

Minho doesn’t call; Seungmin didn’t really expect him to. He sends Seungmin a picture of his cats, all lined up and wearing little berets, at exactly 11:11pm, then takes five minutes to send Seungmin a _sorry you took a vacation day for pretty much nothing :/_.

 _It’s okay,_ Seungmin texts back, staring at the open letter on his computer, _my boss sucks anyway._ He thinks to ask about Minho’s appointment. To ask if he’s okay.

Too afraid of either answer, of both yes and no, Seungmin doesn’t. 

  
  


Minho’s next chosen location is _restaurant_ . This, Seungmin discovers, after some poking and prodding on the car ride over, is for Hyunjin. Which Seungmin realizes he could have guessed when they pull up to the restaurant. They’d all been here for Hyunjin’s 20th birthday. Following the year that they no longer speak of - aka year universally understood as the worst of Hyunjin’s life - all seven of them had chipped in to pay for dinner at a 5 star restaurant for him. It had been one of the things on his _actual_ bucket list, and Seungmin can remember seeing him smile, genuinely smile, through happy tears for the first time in months when they’d started singing to him.

Hyunjin is waiting outside for them, sleeves rolled up as he checks his watch. He grins when he sees the two of them. “Glad you’re on time.”

“I’m always punctual,” Minho says primly. “And this one,” he jerks his thumb at Seungmin, “likes to be early to everything.”

“I’m sorry being considerate of people’s time is a crime. At least I’m not late to everything.”

“Low blow. Jisung isn’t even here to defend himself,” Hyunjin laughs. 

“He’s not _always_ late,” Minho defends as they enter the restaurant. “Just most of the time.”

“Hyung, Jisung would be late to his own funeral and you know it.” Behind them, Seungmin flinches at the joke, but Minho seems to take it in stride. 

“Reservation under Lee Minho,” Minho tells the hostess. “And one for Kim Seungmin.” He points behind himself. 

“All right,” she says, typing something into her computer before flashing them all a brilliant smile. “Right this way, gentlemen.” 

Seungmin is a couple tables diagonal from Hyunjin and Minho, able to hear bits of their conversation when they get particularly loud, but mostly resigned to hear words just too far away to make out. He’s a _little_ bitter that Minho has relegated him to another table entirely, but he gets that him being there would just be awkward. At least Minho is paying for him; Seungmin’s sure he can drown his sorrows in some 75,000 won buttered lobster, the most expensive wine he can find on the list (hey, Minho’s blowing money anyway), and a rich, chocolatey dessert. If he’s going to tag along like some annoying little brother then he’d prefer to do it places like this. 

Is it mildly embarrassing to pull out his phone in the middle of a high class restaurant and load up the new episode of the drama he’s been watching? Absolutely. Is Seungmin too invested in this hostage storyline to care? Absolutely. Eating alone, among all these fancy couples and definite business dinners, is just about equally as shameful. It probably shouldn’t be - if Seungmin were like Minho, he probably wouldn’t care - but Seungmin has always desired to fit in and follow the social structure set in place as best he can. Everyone says you care less about those things as you get older; clearly Seungmin still isn’t old _enough_.

At some point, while Seungmin is waiting for his chocolate souffle and has his heart in his throat as the killer grabs one of the hostages, he catches a flash of movement across from him and nearly knocks his glass over with how startled he is.

“Jesus Christ, Hyunjin; warn a guy next time!” Hyunjin is staring at him with a complex, peculiar look, mouth twisted in a weird mixture of a frown and what Seungmin can most closely describe as queasiness. “What?”

“Do you know that Minho-hyung-” Hyunjin’s eyes shift around and he leans in, lowering his voice, “that he’s Lino.”

“Mm.” Seungmin nods. “Not for very long though.” Hyunjin shifts uncomfortably. 

“I know I said that he sort of gave up his right to privacy but I didn’t know…” His frown grows heavy. “Seungmin, you can’t write that article.” Seungmin’s stomach turns a little and he twists the stem of his wine glass between his thumb and forefinger.

“I know.”

“It wouldn’t be fair to Minho-hyung.”

“Hyunjin, I know.”

“God, I feel like I should apologize.” Hyunjin bites his lip. “Wait, does he even know that you’re-”

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Seungmin cuts him off, setting his napkin on the table.

“If you see hyung tell him our desserts are here,” Hyunjin calls after him. “He’s been in there for a while.”

Seungmin doesn’t have to go to the bathroom. Not really. He just doesn’t need Hyunjin to make him feel worse right now. Nevertheless, he goes in search of Minho, a frown on his face. The bathroom is all white marble and gold accents, pristinely clean, and empty aside from one man in a bespoke suit drying his hands. Seungmin stands by the sinks for a second, glancing around. 

“If you’re looking for your friend,” the man says politely, fixing his cufflinks in the mirror, “I think he’s had a little too much to drink.” He points behind them towards the stalls, where Seungmin can now see shoes beneath one of the doors. He thanks the man as he scurries over.

“Minho-hyung?” He knocks tentatively, in case he’s mistaken. There’s a groan of affirmation. “You okay?” A pause; they both know that’s a stupid question. “You’ve been in here a while,” Seungmin continues, glancing over to the door as someone else comes in and pretends not to look at him talking to the stall door. “I know you’re not. Hyunjin’s getting worried.” Minho just coughs in response, and it’s as bad, if not worse, as it had been that day in the car. “Open the door, hyung.” For a moment there’s just breathing, too loud as it echoes in the stall. “Please?”

There’s a fumbling at the lock and Seungmin nearly falls back as the door swings open.

"Christ, hyung." Seungmin crouches beside Minho, sat on the floor with one arm on the toilet seat and shivering. The door swings shut behind him. Minho is pale and sweaty, his breathing shaky and pained, ragged in his throat. He coughs with his whole body, but it pulls right from his chest and he hacks, throwing himself forward so he doesn't cough on Seungmin, but into the toilet instead. Seungmin rubs his back (somehow Minho is both burning up and freezing, even through his jacket), and does his best to avert his eyes (he knows what he’ll see; he doesn’t want to, lest the red water stain his memories as well as his nightmares) and murmur comforting words. It’s harder than when he’s nursed Hyunjin through stomach bugs or Jeongin through hangovers - unlike then, he can’t just tell Minho things like “ _it’s okay, you’re okay.”_

Seungmin tells himself that his hand is only shaking because Minho is. 

When Minho finally leans back, head hitting the metal wall of the stall with a sharp thud, he looks utterly spent. There’s red at the corners of his mouth and dripping onto his chin a little, and Seungmin can see flecks and smears on the cuffs of Minho’s white sleeves.

“Be right back,” he whispers, retreating from the stall to grab two paper towels and wetting them. His hands don’t steady themselves and a different man glances at him from where he’s texting someone by the wall.

“Your friend okay in there?” He asks.

“His tartar disagreed with him,” Seungmin lies. And the man nods in understanding. 

“My son’s the same. Do you two need any help?”

“No, thank you.” Seungmin bows a little. “I think we can manage.” The man hums and Seungmin returns to the stall to find Minho in the same position as he’d left him, eyes unfocused on the wall across from him and breathing deliberately, only now he’s removed his jacket and thrown it over his legs. Gently, Seungmin presses one of the damp paper towels to his forehead. This gets him some attention, as Minho’s eyes slide over to Seungmin. The other towel is pressed into his hand and he blinks.

“‘S this for?” He mumbles. 

“So you can wipe your mouth,” Seungmin says softly. Minho blinks at him again, like he’s processing the words.

“Thanks,” he mumbles again. Seungmin leans on the door to keep it shut and lets his back slide down until he’s joined Minho on the floor, knees pulled up to his chest so both of them can fit in the cramped box. “I’m sorry, Seungmin-ah. You shouldn’t have to see me like this.” It’s blank and emotionless, just like Minho’s face now. He sighs. “I didn’t miss this sort of stuff.” With one arm, he reaches for the jacket spread across his knees, but it’s just out of reach and he lets his arm fall heavily. “Can you hand me my meds? Right pocket. And my phone. I should text Hyunjinnie.”

Seungmin obliges, tossing Minho his phone, but holding onto the meds a while long. Based on the weight and the rattling, it's nearly empty.

**Lee Minho**

**Duoxiprin, 1000mg**

He hands Minho the bottle, a small frown on his face. “What’s it for? I’ve never heard of Duoxiprin before.”

Minho toys with it in his hand, twisting the cap back and forth seemingly without any intention to open it. “It’s an Ability suppressant. At least it’s supposed to be. It sort of helps with…” he glances at Seungmin, “the coughing.” Minho goes quiet for a second, staring at the orange bottle like it holds some kind of answer he’s desperately searching for. “I don’t react well to it, as you can see. Never have. My doctor thinks it’s because I’m so used to using my Ability that when it’s suppressed my body doesn’t know how to deal with it.”

“So the thing that’s keeping you alive is killing you?” Seungmin’s knuckles go white as they tighten into fists. It doesn’t stop the shaking in his hands

“Ironically.” Minho lets out a puff of laughter. He takes two, swallowing with some effort and a resigned grimace, and it does seem to improve to the thin, painful quality of his breath almost immediately. Not entirely, but enough that it isn’t as noticeable. Seungmin’s frown deepens.

“Why’d you take it if you know it makes you sick, hyung?”

“I didn’t want the others to know,” Minho says quietly. “I can’t hold back the coughing, or hide blood.” He rolls up his sleeves. “It’s not like it makes a difference, in the long run.” The smile he makes is grim. “Come on, Seungmin-ah.” Like a newborn deer, he stands on wobbly legs. “We’d best get back. I feel bad for abandoning Hyunjin for so long.”

Seungmin is quiet for the rest of the night, even in the car on the ride home, a heavy, sinking weight in his stomach and chest making him sick. It feels like he’s watching himself go through the motions, nothing more, nothing less. As though Minho’s ice has bled into his soul and numbed him, there is nothing in him; no emotion. No joy as he watches a puppy video that Felix has sent him, no anger as he trips over the rug in the kitchen and shatters his mug of coffee, no pain as he sinks to the floor to collect the broken pieces from the floor and cuts his finger on one. The cut is small, no more than a glorified paper cut, but as the blood begins to bead up, the weight in Seungmin’s chest snaps. 

Finally, it all sinks in. All the sadness Seungmin hasn’t felt - had pushed aside - the past two weeks has compounded and burst.

Minho is dying. He’s dying and there’s nothing Seungmin can do to change that. 

Coffee crawls across his floor and soaks into his socks and there, in the dim light of the kitchen, his hands pressed to his eyes, Seungmin cries.

  
  
  


(At work the next day, Seungmin marches over to Director Kim's desk, hands him an envelope, bows stiffly, and marches back to his desk without so much as a word.)

  
  
  


The karaoke room glows with soft blue light and the colors of the music video playing on screen, Jeongin and Minho singing their hearts out to some song none of the three of them has ever heard of, but that Minho accidentally typed in thinking it was a different one. Sometimes a mic is shoved in Seungmin's face and he, though buzzed and halfway to the point of losing his inhibitions, provides the harmony, more on key than either of his by now very drunk companions. 

Honestly, it's devolved into yelling more than singing at this point, Jeongin and Minho leaning on each other for support more and more as the hours have ticked on, arms looped over each other's shoulders and voices focused more on volume and reading the lyrics than anything, but it's at least melodic yelling, both of them too into music to ever give a flat performance. They're a far cry from the put together, responsible adults talking about Jeongin's first year in grad school and financial advice that they had been at first, the responsible adults who had given a secret and accepted it as easily as if they had always known.

Karaoke is their "thing" apparently. Minho doesn't tell Jeongin, but in the taxi on the way over (Seungmin’s not sure why he’s been invited today, seeing as he isn’t driving), he explains to Seungmin that it had been his way to watch over Jeongin and give him a place to destress during university, a place where he could talk to Minho if he wanted, but wasn't obligated to and could just pour any and every feeling into a song just as easily. It had been his way to give Jeongin at least one consistent, good thing every week.

"Tambourine solo, hyung!" Jeongin tosses it to Seungmin. Or tries to; it misses him by a long shot and lands on the couch a few feet to the left. Seungmin complies because he, like the rest of his friends, is terrible at saying no to Jeongin. He finishes out the song with the tambourine while Jeongin and Minho cheer for absolutely nothing (or possibly Seungmin; they're facing the screen so he's really not sure) and dance along. 

Minho falls breathlessly onto the couch as the song fades out, Jeongin not far behind. 

"Where's the controller?" He asks, making grabby hands at Seungmin. "'S my turn to pick a song." 

"Another round!" Minho shouts, handing Jeongin a shot glass and knocking it back. "Seungminnie too!" He offers, but Seungmin grabs his hand before he can give it to him.

"No, that's okay." One of them needs to not be plastered if they're going to organize the taxi for the ride home. If this is how Minho and Jeongin had spent every Friday of Jeongin's college years, Seungmin worries for their younger selves.

"Jeonginnie is the best!" Minho calls as Jeongin finds the controller and the dramatic instrumental of a power ballad starts. "So cool!" He claps and shouts compliments right in Seungmin's ear for the entire five minutes that Jeongin is putting his absolute soul in the song, as though he's performing at a sold out concert for millions of fans and not a tiny karaoke room for two people in various states of inebriation. Seungmin cheers as well, just as loud and right in Minho's ear as payback, but he probably doesn't even notice. 

Jeongin doesn't last much longer than that. He's never had a high tolerance and he and Minho have had more tonight than Seungmin's ever seen him have, except maybe at a few parties (after which Jeongin had sworn off drinking, claiming he felt his soul leave his body while he was nursing his hangovers, though that never lasted), but within twenty minutes of his short lived career as a world renowned singer, Jeongin's head is falling onto Minho's shoulder, eyes so heavy Seungmin thinks it'll be a miracle if they wake him up to leave. 

"Missed this," Jeongin slurs into Minho's shoulder. "Missed you. Love you, hyung." Affectionate Jeongin is the last stage of his drunkenness; the sign that he's about to be down for the count. It's short lived but treasured, and Seungmin thinks that all seven of them at the very least have screenshots of drunk texts he's sent spewing his adoration and appreciation for his hyungs.

(Seungmin's personal favorite is one that says, with about a dozen typos, _hyung you're the best person I know I love you I trust you sooooo much_ primarily because he can use it whenever Jeongin won't tell him something. And maybe he had cried when he'd gotten it. Maybe. He won't admit that.) 

Minho pats his head with concentrated gentleness. Though his tolerance is higher than Jeongin's, he's long since passed the point of lucidity, drinking like his express goal is to forget his own name. Seungmin wishes he knew if that's normal for him or not. He doesn't remember it being, but things might have changed. Maybe these days Minho always drinks as though the world is ending. 

But then, Minho's world is. So for today, Seungmin can't fault him. 

He doesn't even get annoyed having to haul Minho out of the taxi, up his stairs, and into his apartment. Both of them stumble in the dark as Seungmin blindly slaps at the wall for the lights until Minho bangs into a table and manages to find the lamp that sits on it. Seungmin, arm holding Minho up and therefore going wherever he does, walks right into it not a moment later and the two of them go sprawling onto the floor with twin groans of pain as the orange light flickers on and a cat makes a noise of confusion nearby. One of them (Soonie? Doongie? To Seungmin's fuzzy brain figuring it out may as well be calculus right now) pads over to Minho and looks at him curiously, head stretching forward to sniff and examine him. 

"Pretty, yes you are," Minho coos, pushing himself up into a sitting position and scratching beneath the cat's chin, pressing their heads together. "So pretty. I love you, you know that? My sweet baby; always such a gentle boy. I don't wanna leave you. Gonna miss you. Hyung's gonna miss you so much." His voice gets wobbly. "Hyung doesn't wanna go." Seungmin scrambles to sit up as Minho's breath hitches. "Hyung's sorry," Minho says, weak and fragmented as he starts to cry. 

"Minho-hyung." Seungmin swallows hard to rein in his own tears, but they well up in his eyes anyway and his whole body goes hot. He places a hand on Minho's shaking shoulder. 

"Hyung's sorry," Minho cries more plaintively, head still bowed, his eyes squeezed shut as though that will stop him from crying. "I'm scared, Seungminnie." He curls in on himself, arms wrapped around his middle like he can hold himself together. "I'm so scared. I can't do anything. I'm dying and I can't _do_ anything." Both of Seungmin's arms come to wrap around Minho's shoulders. The air around them turns bitterly cold, turning their breaths white and the air to glittering dust. "I'm dying," Minho wails at the floor. Seungmin's cheeks are wet and tears drip from his jaw; his nose starts to run, but he pays it no mind. "I don't wanna die. Why do I have to die? What did I do to deserve it?" 

"You don't," Seungmin whispers to him, voice shaking and wet. "You didn't do anything, hyung. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." 

"Then why me?" Minho cries. "I don't wanna die. Don't wanna leave." He throws himself at Seungmin, hands wrapped around him as desperately as if he was a lifeline. Minho's skin is ice cold, frost crawling up his neck, his tears freezing as they run down his cheeks, melting when faced with Seungmin's body heat. "I don't wanna _die_." 

All Seungmin can do is tell him he's sorry because he has no other answer for him. He has no other condolence he can make aside from this, can do nothing but rub Minho's back and stroke his hair and cry with him. Seungmin can do nothing but hold him as Minho sobs into his shirt until the sky begins to lighten and finally, he tires himself out.

  
  
  


It’s early afternoon when they speak again, Seungmin having hauled Minho up on the couch not long after he’d fallen asleep and then grabbing a pillow for himself and passing out the moment his head had touched the floor. Aside from being exhausted, he’s not sure leaving Minho alone is the best idea right now. He only wakes up because one of the cats - Dori, he knows that for sure - is meowing and from his vantage point, he can see him sniffing at Minho’s face, gently and unsurely pressing a paw to it every so often. Minho stirs a little, but doesn’t wake up, and so Seungmin does so he can continue to sleep. Hopefully he’ll sleep all the way through the massive hangover he’s bound to have. Seungmin’s own head throbs, and he hadn’t had nearly that much to drink.

Though he supposes it could also be from dehydration. 

“All right, what is it?” He asks Dori, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Another meow. “Sure, but what do you want?” Soonie and Doongie stare at him from the top of the couch, no more helpful. Seungmin stumbles into the kitchen in search of water and all three of them jump down and follow him dutifully, sitting politely at his feet as he opens cabinets in his quest to find where Minho keeps the cups. Like a cult, they follow him to the fridge as he finally quenches his thirst, eyes expectant. Doongie even stands on his back legs and puts his front paws on Seungmin’s leg, head stretching up as if he’s looking for something. Seungmin glances at the counter and-

“Oh, you must be hungry,” he realizes as he stares at three empty bowls. He turns back to the cats. “I don’t know where your food is, sorry.” He could look, but it feels weirdly invasive. Though Seungmin has also already gone through Minho’s cabinets and checked the contents of his fridge, so that line was probably crossed five minutes ago. 

“What’re you doing?” A sleepy, confused mumble nearly scares Seungmin to death as he’s rooting through the cabinets. His little audience abandons him in favor of Minho, curling around his legs and purring. 

“Cat food,” Seungmin explains. Minho reaches above the fridge and pulls down a bag, ignoring Seungmin and murmuring apologies to his cats. After their bowls have been set on the floor, he groans and presses his head to the cool countertop.

“Why’re you still here?” It’s hoarse and scratchy as Minho wakes up a little more.

“You were pretty fucked up last night.” Seungmin sips bracingly cold water. “I figured it would be better not to leave you alone. I’ve seen some nasty hangovers.” Minho sighs, a hand rubbing at his cheek.

(Once, Seungmin would have complained to Minho about him falling asleep on him, about how heavy he is and how Seungmin had to drag his dead weight onto the couch. Even though he’s never meant things like that in a way that hurts, he can’t bring himself to joke anymore.)

“What did I do?” He mutters, lifting his head and squinting at Seungmin with bloodshot eyes, the light streaming in from the windows far too bright for his current state. At least he isn't throwing up the contents of his stomach like Seungmin had expected him to, which he's counting as a win for both of them. Seungmin raises his brows in question. “I remember the floor and hugging you, but I don’t remember why.” He bites his lip. “Was it bad?” 

Seungmin pauses, mouth half open. Does he tell the truth? Sober Minho has always maintained that he’s dealing with everything just fine. Sober Minho will probably not be thrilled that Drunk Minho is unable to control his emotions and had broken down so easily right in front of Seungmin; Sober Minho does not like vulnerability. Drunk Minho says the things Sober Minho won’t.

He thinks he’s starting to understand why Minho had not wanted to rely on any of their friends but a stranger instead. Starting to understand why Minho has yet to tell anyone other than Seungmin.

He’d never intended to. Not like that, at least.

“You got upset because you didn’t want to leave the cats behind,” Seungmin gives him a half truth and Minho seems to accept it. He glances down where they mill around his feet and sinks to the ground to pet them. Doongie begins to knead at his leg and Minho strokes his head gently, a sad, pinched expression on his face. Seungmin would guess this isn’t the first time he’s thought about such things. “What’ll happen to them?” He asks quietly, carefully. 

“My parents will take them,” Minho sighs. Dori lays a few feet away, legs curled under him as he watches Minho with laser focus. Soonie hops into his lap and makes himself comfortable. “They’re picking them up next week.” His eyes drop to Soonie. “I think they know,” he says softly. “They’ve been especially attached to me lately; I heard cats can sense that sort of stuff.” There’s a pause and Minho blinks a little more than normal. “I wish they knew how much I love them. That I’m not abandoning them because I want to.” Seungmin looks at him sympathetically, bending down to sit with him, like he had the restaurant. 

He’s seen the pictures Minho takes every year on their birthdays, the hundreds of photos in his gallery. He remembers Minho bringing home a sick Soonie from the vet for the first time and insisting he would nurse him back to health. He remembers in high school when Minho had missed school purely because Doongie had had a big surgery and he’d stayed up all night and made himself sick with worry, remembers Minho coming in exhausted every day for a week after because he would forgo his own sleep to make sure Doongie was comfortable. He’s seen the pictures of Dori when Minho had first got him, tiny and weak and too young to be away from his mother, and remembers how Minho had talked about getting up every few hours to feed him. Minho knows everything about his cats, right down to which brands of treats each one prefers. He spoils them rotten like they really are his children. 

“They know,” Seungmin tells him. “If there’s one thing they know, it’s that you love them.”

“I hope so.”

“Hey, hyung?” Seungmin asks after a pause. Minho hums. “Can I ask you something?” Another, softer, hum. “I read that using your Ability a lot shortens your lifespan.” He fiddles with his fingers in his lap. Yet another hum. “So why’d you decide to be a hero? Why would anyone?”

“You sound like my parents,” Minho says with a puff of laughter. “Just calmer.” Seungmin cannot begin to imagine what they had felt, to know what would happen to Minho, and then for him to speed up the process. “I don’t know. I guess… I guess I figured that if my time is already limited, I may as well do something worthwhile with it. If I can help someone, then surely I should. If I’m already destined to die, then what difference does a few years make to me?” He cracks a sad sort of smile. “Guess that’s a pretty selfish reason, seeing as it makes a difference to other people. But I can only live my life for myself, no matter how hard I try, and I would still be a hero, even if you turned back time and gave me the chance to choose a different path. The end will never change.”

Seungmin doesn’t think he’s selfish. He doesn’t think Minho only lives for himself, like he says. All the places on his list have brought joy to the others more than to him. 

Minho has saved countless lives, but the one life he can’t is his own. 

It’s hard to call that selfish.

“You don’t regret it?”

Minho shakes his head. His chest rises and falls as he takes a deep breath, as though he’s building himself up for something. “I’m dying,” he says deliberately. Seungmin is reminded of last night. Until now, he’s always referred to it as some distant future. “I can’t change that. I’ve always tried to live a life I can leave without regrets.”

“You know, it’s okay to be scared, hyung.” Minho almost seems to startle, like Seungmin has somehow seen right through him. He really doesn’t remember last night. He shouldn’t have to. It shouldn’t take being blackout drunk for Minho to let someone else take some of the weight away from his heart. Seungmin may not be able to understand, or carry it completely, but he can help. He wants to help. However he feels, he can only imagine how hard it is for Minho, last night a mere glimpse at the burden he tries so desperately to carry alone. “You don’t have to pretend for anyone else’s sake. You don’t have to hide it.”

“What about my own?” Minho’s voice is soft, barely audible.

“Doesn’t it only hurt more when you know the truth?” You can’t really lie to yourself, Seungmin knows that. It’s only skin deep unless you really can convince yourself of it. But Minho hasn’t - can’t. It doesn’t take much to strip away his layer of falsehood.

“You always have been the smart one, huh?” Minho reaches out and gives Seungmin’s leg a couple of hearty pats. “I’m not scared. Don’t worry about it, Seungminnie.”

Obviously he worries. How can he not? But Seungmin knows there’s no use pushing it with Minho. He’s never liked to rely on others; even when they’d been younger, Minho always dealt with his more difficult emotions and situations quietly and on his own. So Seungmin has simply opened the door for him, offered him the chance to talk without feeling like he’s forcing it on Seungmin like he seems to be afraid to do, and that’s all he really can do. He and Minho make eye contact, Seungmin’s eyes wide and attentive as he tries to convey that the door remains open for anytime Minho wants to talk.

“You can shower, if you want,” Minho says, dropping his eyes to pull out his phone, a grimace pulling at his lips as he sees his low battery. “Grab me some acetaminophen while you're in there. What do you want for lunch? I’ll pay.”

Though nothing has changed, Seungmin almost feels like it has. Like Minho has understood. Like something in the air has eased.

He hopes it has.

  
  
  
  
  


It’s less than 24 hours later when Seungmin finds himself in Minho’s apartment again, this time headache free and only in the occasional company of the cats. He’s agreed to watch them for the day while Minho and Changbin do whatever it is Minho has planned in Busan. He hadn’t exactly been forthcoming in the car on the way to the train station (though it had been ass o’clock in the morning and Seungmin hadn’t exactly been the most chipper either), mostly napping or pretending to nap and then scaring the shit out of Seungmin when he’d grit out a complaint about his driving every so often. Seungmin isn’t a bad driver by any means - he takes care in everything he does - but Minho, bundled up in a warm hoodie (too warm for summer, Seungmin thinks), arms crossed tightly, eyes squeezed shut, had looked queasy at even the slightest swerve. His voice still came out gritty, and now Seungmin wonders if it’s just the remnants of his cries or the progression of his death.

June has bled into July and on the calendar that hangs on Minho’s fridge, Seungmin can see that after the coming week, nothing has been written in at all; no reminders, no plans. It reminds him of high school - of questionnaires that their homeroom teachers would have them fill out every term, and of questions they would ask amongst their friends. 

_Where do you see yourself in 5 years? In 10? In 20?_

Seungmin plans his life, has always had an idea of what he wants to do and the structure he needs to follow through. Jisung is a lot like him, with goals and the determination to make them happen. Changbin and Hyunjin, in those days, had always had more vague ideas and outlines than clear cut directions. 

Minho had always had more trouble with it, the question always accompanied by a thoughtful frown and long, drawn out silence. Aside from a career path, he seemed to have little idea or care for his looming future. Back then, Seungmin had been annoyed and called him reckless - immature even - for living only in the now. Back then, Minho had laughed and called him stupid for getting so caught up in an ever changing kaleidescope future. 

Still, Seungmin remembers a jealous flash in his eyes listening to them lay out their life plans, reaching far beyond ages any of them could comprehend at the time. 

(If his math is right, that would have been not long after Lino popped up on the scene. Minho had already begun to trade away his future. He would have known that.)

Uncomfortable weight on his leg brings Seungmin's attention back to his lap and the open laptop resting on his thighs. Soonie has the full weight of one leg resting on his leg, wide eyes staring at Seungmin's laptop and his other leg poised just above, waiting. One certainly can't call him subtle, and the minute Seungmin sighs and moves his laptop to the coffee table, Soonie claims his now empty lap. 

At least he's polite about it. Doongie had simply laid down on Seungmin's laptop when he'd left it on the counter to water one of Minho's plants earlier. Of course, Seungmin knows none of the cats are malicious, and they’ve never so much as scratched him, but they still have sharp claws and teeth and so Seungmin had debated the importance of his resume for ten minutes before coaxing Doongie away with a treat.

There isn’t much for him to do aside from touch it up, however, so Seungmin has just been looking it over for the past several hours (and catching up on some shows as well, but he likes to think that he’s been productive). He had been tempted, just for a moment, to snoop around when he’d crossed the threshold of Minho’s almost hallowed-seeming bedroom to water his ice plant (Seungmin had thought he’d been kidding, but no, apparently such a thing really does exist). Minho’s desk is lined with magazine files, a few folders tossed haphazardly on the polished wood, and papers and envelopes piled off to the side; it would be easy to poke his nose in them. 

But Seungmin isn’t that sort of person, and even if he was, is old enough to know right from wrong in this situation. Though he’s curious, he leaves the desk alone.

(Honestly, he kind of doubts he really wants to see most of the things on it. Seungmin can recognize medical files when he sees them.)

So Seungmin is left with nothing to do between meal times aside from “work” on his resume and pet Soonie and Doongie when they won’t let him. (Dori, who really does only seem to like Minho, has been hiding somewhere in the bedroom since this morning.) In the afternoon he orders food for himself, not wanting to raid Minho’s fridge despite the fact that he’d been given permission, and sets about feeding the cats. Only at the crinkle of the bag does Dori appear, waiting patiently at Seungmin’s feet. It’s now that Seungmin’s phone goes off in his pocket and he sets down the bag to check it, brows furrowing as _Changbinnie-hyung_ pops up on the screen.

“What’s up?” 

“Is something up with Minho-hyung?” Changbin asks bluntly. Seungmin sighs, pressing his phone between his shoulder and his head as the cats meow with impatience. A commercial for sunscreen plays quietly in the background where Seungmin has left the TV on after finding a rerun of _Master Chef_.

“Not even a hello, huh?” Kibble clinks against the bowls. “Shame you can’t, I don’t know, just ask him.”

“He’s a cagey bastard,” Changbin huffs. 

“Why do you think I know anything?” Seungmin places the bowls on the floor and takes the phone in his hand, leaning against the counter. “You’re better off asking Jisung.”

“Heard you’ve been hanging out with him a lot recently. Jisung hasn’t seen hyung in a while.”

“Why would something’s up with him?” Seungmin asks. His eyes widen a little bit. “Isn’t he with you?”

“Bathroom,” Changbin explains. That doesn’t ease Seungmin’s nerves much. “I don’t know; he just looks like shit. And sounds it too.”

Sometimes, Seungmin forgets how observant Changbin is, how astute he can be. He isn't one to beat around the bush much.

“I heard people’s Abilities can turn on them,” he continues when Seungmin doesn’t answer. “Is Minho-hyung sick?” There’s sudden shouting and commotion that crackles through the phone, drowning Changbin out. “What the-”

“Hyung, what’s going on?” Sudden panic swirls in Seungmin’s gut. “Hyung?”

“The water.” Changbin is barely audible. “It’s…” 

Seungmin's phone buzzes with a news alert and he dares to venture into the living room and switch the TV to the news channel.

**BREAKING: SUDDEN SUPER WAVE APPEARS IN BUSAN, THOUGHT TO BE MAN MADE**

Shaky footage shows water pulling sharply back from the coast and growing into an ever rising wave. Its shadow grows as it does, reaching towards the building it's being filmed from, and people run in a frenzied panic beneath it. The water froths angrily, held back like a horse chomping at the bit. The picture zooms in and turns grainy, but standing beneath it, unmoving, is a figure, arms raised towards the water as it churns and rises higher and higher. 

There’s a sudden shattering sound through Changbin’s phone and the footage jerks sharply to the right, looking at a broken window only a few feet away, a ball of water swirling in the air before lashing out for the camera as though sentient. Just for a moment, Seungmin catches sight of Changbin, phone pressed to his ear and mouth hanging open in shock, before the screen goes black.

It cuts to an aerial view and now the magnitude of the wave can be seen much more clearly. Its maker stands, feet planted in the sand, with his face defiantly uncovered, wind and sand whipping in his hair. He looks almost amused, and a sudden shot of water knocks the camera and unfocuses it, even from so high up. The grin that greets the camera when it refocuses is almost taunting, the sparkle in the eyes almost mad. 

_Watch me,_ they say, _watch me while you can do nothing_.

“Minho-hyung,” Changbin’s soft, tinny voice says into Seungmin’s ear. It’s not meant for him, both of them seemingly forgetting about the call. It’s not meant for Minho either, Seungmin thinks, the voice too soft to be heard by anyone really. “Hyung, don’t!”

Stray bits of water dance in the air around the beach and a park, zipping through several nearby buildings and shattering the windows before zipping back out and playing in the air like little dragons. A figure steps onto the field, and Seungmin knows it’s Minho - Lino - even before he sees the white mask he’s pulled up to hide his identity, the dark blue hood Seungmin recognizes from this morning thrown over his head to hide the rest of his face. The damp grass turns white beneath his feet and the camera now takes an interest in him.

**BREAKING: HERO LINO FACES OFF WITH WATER WIELDING ASSAILANT**

A spear of water flies towards Minho, right towards his forehead, thin and needle sharp. Minho raises a hand and it stops abruptly, frozen in the air mere inches from his head before it falls to the grass. Seungmin can see his hand shaking like this, sees how pale Minho still looks. Frost spreads across the park, growing like a blight, and all the water dancing around freezes suddenly, glittering and suspended in the air. Then it falls, shattering against the pavement. Water continues to be thrown at Minho in an unrelenting attack, and the pattern continues. Minho makes no brave or bold moves, though this kind of matchup should surely be his to win. The wave continues to fight angrily to be set free, rearing against whatever constraint holds it back.

“Seungminnie.” Changbin’s sudden, shaky voice reminds Seungmin to breathe. “Is Minho-hyung sick?” It’s more nervous and afraid this time. On the TV, Seungmin watches Minho shiver. Even through his mask, he breathes in ghostly puffs.

The wave breaks free, its maker’s face suddenly morphing into panic all its own, as though this is unintentional. His hands twist and it crashes not on him, but rushes forward, towering and ready to swallow the city whole. 

“Is he _sick_?”

The cracking of ice is so loud Seungmin hears it through the phone. In the blink of an eye, a blast of air so cold it should not be possible has swept over the grass and met the wave head on, freezing it solid. Snow falls in Busan July and diamond dust curls in the air around the massive frozen sculpture, sparkling in the sun like glass. 

“Seungmin?” 

Minho clutches his chest suddenly and stumbles forward with the force of a cough. He falls to his hands and knees - that same diamond dust glittering around him, frost peeking out from under his sleeves and blossoming onto his hands - and trembles as he hacks. Another hero has arrived to deal with the wave maker and yet another, in a blur of speed, appears to kneel beside Minho and shield him from the camera.

“Seungmin.”

The hero isn’t fast enough to hide the blood that seeps into Minho’s white mask.

“Seungmin-ah, is hyung sick?” Urgent. Panicked. Frantic. Seungmin can’t bring himself to speak.

Sick? 

Minho has been sick for so long it's all he knows. 

Seungmin wishes it was just that.

They can deal with “sick.”

“Hello?” The phone falls from his hand as a chill colder than anything even Minho could produce runs through Seungmin’s veins. "Hello? Seungmin?"

They’re so very far past “sick.”

  
  
  
  
  


“You should have gone to the hospital,” Seungmin is chiding the next day, teeth gritted as though that will help him settle his stomach. His leg bounces with unspoken nerves, fingers freezing despite the summer and the hot coffee he’d bought to try and both warm himself up and wake himself up. He feels like he’s barely slept, though he’d slept far too easily given yesterday’s events. Minho sits across from him as they wait to meet Jisung, for once drinking something hot as well. He looks exhausted and pallid, and decidedly un-Minho-like, dressed in warm clothes even in the blistering heat. To a stranger, he wouldn’t look so bad, maybe a bit rundown, a bit ill, but nothing more (though he’s definitely becoming more blatantly off looking.) To Seungmin, and anyone else who knows Minho, he looks like shit, hunched over a steaming hot chocolate as though they’re in the depths of winter. At least today he isn’t shaking.

A tiny bit of hot chocolate sloshes onto the table as Minho’s hands refuse to cooperate with him.

Well, at least not shaking as noticeably. 

“What good would it have done?” His voice is still scratchy. Seungmin no longer thinks he can attribute it to crying for several hours.

“They could help you, hyung.” Seungmin tries not to sound like he’s pleading. “It’s… this isn’t normal, you know that. I know they can’t cure you, but surely there’s something-”

“There’s nothing they can do for me anymore,” Minho cuts him off. “This isn’t normal, so normal medicine can’t help me. My body has been in constant strife with my Ability since the day it presented itself, and my Ability is finally coming out on top. It’s inevitable, just like the sun rising every day.” He glances at his phone and sighs. “Just like Jisung being late.”

“What did you tell Changbin-hyung?” Seungmin asks quietly. “He’s not stupid. He knows something’s wrong. Even before… he kept asking if you were sick.”

“Told him it was just backlash.” Minho shrugs, a frown worming its way onto his face. “And that my Ability makes me prone to colds. I don’t know if he bought it, but he didn’t say anything except to scold me for doing things that hurt me.” With his teeth he picks at the skin of his lip. “I made him promise not to tell anyone because I was afraid he’d tell Jisung before I could.”

“He texted me last night,” Seungmin says.

“Changbinnie? What’d he say?”

“Don’t know.” Seungmin’s thumb rubs against his forefinger. “I didn’t open it. Or anyone else’s messages. I don’t know what to say to them. I don’t want to lie and act like you’re okay, but it’s not for me to say.” He looks down at the table. “They’re not gonna be happy when they found out I knew the whole time and didn’t say anything.”

“They’ll come around,” Minho sighs again. “I think they’ll understand, even if it takes a bit.” His eyes brighten a bit as they glance out the window. Somehow, his features simultaneously ease and go tense with anxiety, and the happy energy that is Jisung enters the cafe.

“Hyung, how come I haven’t seen you in so long?” He greets with a pout. “Oh. Hey, Seungmin.” Jisung gives him a two finger salute and Seungmin nods at him. 

“Been busy,” Minho says lightly, and Seungmin can tell he’s really striving to seem normal. But Jisung’s eyes are minutely narrowed as he studies Minho, and he most of all will not be fooled by such an act. “You know how life gets.”

“Fair enough.” Jisung replies without indication that he thinks something is wrong, a smile plastered onto his face; he play-acts like Minho, but Seungmin doubts either buys the other's performance. “Shall we go then?”

The drive to the amusement park is awkwardly, uncomfortably quiet aside from the radio. Jisung, who hates silence, sits in the back with a concentrated frown on his face, Minho looks out the window like he desperately wishes to escape the car, and Seungmin has no desire to force any sort of conversation between them. 

“So, you two are close again,” Jisung says as they near the park.

“Yeah, I guess.” Minho picks up the conversation, and for that Seungmin is infinitely grateful.

“How come?”

“Seungmin’s been helping me with something.” Minho shrugs. “He’s easy to talk to.”

“Why not me?” Jisung blinks, almost sounding hurt. “You’re my best friend.”

“That’s why, Jisungie.” Minho looks frighteningly sad as Seungmin pulls into the parking lot. “It’s harder because of that.”

“Hyung?” 

They sit in the parked car for a long moment of silence and now Seungmin wishes he was the one who could escape. 

“You’re hiding something.” Jisung reaches over the seat to put a hand on Minho’s shoulder. 

“I have an Ability,” Minho says without a moment’s hesitation, almost too quick to give in. “I… I’m Lino.” Jisung retracts his hand.

“I know,” he says quietly, a sort of sheepishness bleeding into his voice. Both Minho and Seungmin turn to look at him, varying degrees of shock and confusion between them. 

“You know?” Minho seems almost alarmed. “But… I mean, I never…” 

“I never knew for certain,” Jisung admits, hands picking at a crease in his shorts. “You were really drunk when you told me, so I kind of thought you were talking out your ass, but I guess… I don’t know, some part of me always kind of thought you might be telling the truth. At least about having an Ability.” His head suddenly jerks up and his eyes narrow at Seungmin. Seungmin shakes his head frantically, willing Jisung not to say anything with a silent plea. 

Jisung’s narrowed eyes turn to Minho, but Seungmin gets the distinct feeling that there’s unfinished business between them. 

“You’re hiding something else,” Jisung declares. He’s like a sniffer dog that’s picked up a trail. Minho freezes up, mouth open as he’s caught in between a truth and a lie. 

“Jisungie.” His voice is as soft as it can be with its grit, a plea even more palpable than Seungmin’s in the air. 

“Don’t tell me you’re not. I know you like the back of my hand, hyung.”

“Please don’t do this now.” Minho’s eyes shut and he makes a hard swallow. 

“Then when do you propose we do it?” Jisung pushes. “If it’s important, I want to know.”

“Later,” Minho murmurs. He looks almost like he’s going to be sick. “Please can’t we do it later?” His eyes open and they’re as fragile as ice. “Please,” he begs, “can we just go back to before for a few hours?” It is a plea both to a desperately confused Jisung and to the universe that has cursed him. 

There is no clear “before'' that Minho begs to return to. Is “before” his and Jisung’s middle school selves, riding the roller coasters all day and losing their voices from screams and laughter, taking stupid pictures together and relishing in the adrenaline of flying through the air at 100 miles per hour? Is “before” just an hour earlier, when Jisung was just happy to see Minho again? Is it all those years before this one, when even if things weren’t normal, Minho could act like they were because death was far off on the horizon?

Perhaps it is all of these at once.

“Okay,” Jisung relents softly, looking at Minho like something about to break in two. “Later.”

Seungmin splits off from the two of them when they enter the park, agreeing to meet back at the entrance at 6. It's hard to have fun when he can _feel_ that something isn't right, settling too heavily in his stomach. Even when he occasionally runs into Jisung and Minho in line and sees how happy they seem despite what had happened in the car, there's an undertone to it all, a weighted expectation that precedes them almost. 

This is the sixth time they're doing this, but today sinks into him like no other. Even though Minho doesn't warn him ahead of time, Seungmin just knows. 

Minho will tell Jisung. 

The hours drag on too slowly and rush by too quickly, and all at once the three of them are taking the long, long walk back to Seungmin's car in the rich gold of the late afternoon. Unspoken words hang over them like a guillotine, and Seungmin would honestly prefer walking to the executioner than this. The thrill of the roller coasters that has clung to Minho and Jisung is starting to wear off, the smiles falling from their faces as they walk ahead of Seungmin, the laughs over some ridiculous memory fading into quiet. 

"It's not so simple as you being Lino, is it?" Jisung asks as they near the car, voice low and knowing, trying to coax an answer out of Minho rather than forcing him to give it up. Minho doesn't reply to this, just stops suddenly and looks up at the orange clouds. "I know you've been making it a point to see everyone," Jisung continues quietly. "I saw what happened yesterday." It's gentle and afraid, but teeters on something else as well. "You're not okay, are you? It's hurting you." He takes Minho's shaking hand. "It's making you sick, isn't it?" Like he knows. Or maybe he's just put the pieces of the puzzle together without bothering to try and delude himself into thinking things are all right. 

Seungmin can see the laugh that catches in Minho's throat, one not for humour but for bitter, bitter pain, the sort that had ached in his freezing tears so few days ago. 

"Ah, really…" It's quiet and reaching for the sky as opposed to Jisung, meant only for Minho and maybe the world that has done this to him. Minho swallows hard. "It's killing me," he finally says, too plainly to be anything more than a mask. "I'm dying, Jisungie." 

"You're…" Jisung swallows thickly, and Seungmin wishes he was anywhere but here. "You're what?" He doesn't want to hear it, to believe it.

Who would? Who would ever want to hear such words leave their best friend's mouth? 

"Dying." Minho's head drops, eyes flickering to Jisung just for a moment before he focuses on Seungmin's car. "I'm dying." Soft as it is, it holds strong even beneath Jisung's desperate disbelief. "I don't have much time left." The air around them is impossibly still, wobbling on a precipice as Jisung stands unmoving, mouth parted and eyes wide as he looks at Minho, too many things to parse through flickering on his face.

Rather than face the sadness, Jisung flings himself into anger and whirls around to Seungmin. "You're despicable!" He snaps, voice breaking and tears welling up in his eyes. "You knew! You knew and you-" he wipes at his eyes, but it does nothing to stop his tears from falling, hot over angry, flushed cheeks, "- you're using him!" 

"Jisung, I'm not-" Seungmin brings up a hand to shield his face as Jisung raises a tight fist. He won't hurt him; Jisung's punches come from his mouth but never his hands. Nonetheless, Seungmin flinches. He can feel his own face getting hot, his own preemptive grief rising from his throat to his eyes. 

"How could you?" Jisung's fist shakes as his fingers tighten, white tension blooming in the skin pressed under his nails. "He's our friend, Seungmin. Our _friend!_ He's-" 

Jisung won't say dying. He doesn't have to. 

"I know that!" Seungmin's jaw trembles. "I know. I'm not-"

"Jisung-ah." Minho places a hand on his shoulder and turns him around, plaintive confusion knit into his furrowed brows. "What's going on?" He raises his eyes over Jisung's shoulder to Seungmin, something lost swimming in his eyes. 

Seungmin wishes the ground would swallow him whole. All the guilt he thought he had rid himself of tingling and crawling up his skin like a swarm of bees. 

Jisung wraps his arms around Minho rather than answering, his closed fist landing weakly against his shoulder, and he cries against Minho, hiding it as best he can. It pulls Minho's gaze to him, face contorted in pain as he rubs Jisung's back and cradles the back of his head gently. He murmurs soft _"it's okay"_ s and _“I’m sorry”_ s in Jisung's ear, and Jisung just shakes his head minutely. Seungmin turns away abruptly, rubbing his eyes with harsh insistence and muttering something about waiting in the car. In the mirror he can see them still, holding firm even as passersby give them odd looks or offers of help.

Jisung holds Minho like it will keep him here, like Seungmin thinks Minho had held him when he'd been drunk, but it's unclear who's really holding who together. 

His nails dig into his palms, because Seungmin must be the one to keep himself composed. Jisung's words ring in his head, too close to ones Seungmin has already wallowed in. At the very least, he can do this and not make things harder for Minho than they already are. Maybe it doesn't make him a good person, but it doesn't add to the chance of being a bad one.

"Tell him." Jisung and Minho are both in the backseat, Jisung still sniffling though his tears are quieter and more contained now. Seungmin is silent, teeth pressed together so tightly they ache. He doesn't even get a chance, hesitates a moment too long because Jisung is already squeezing Minho's hand tightly and saying, "Seungmin is writing an exposé on Lino… on _you_." 

"I'm not!" Seungmin turns around quickly, seatbelt digging into his neck. "I quit last week!" 

"But you were! You knew it was Minho and you knew he was dying and you still used him!" 

"No, I didn't!" Minho looks at Seungmin with an unreadable expression and Seungmin's eyes drop to the floor. "I never even started writing it," he says softly. "I wouldn't do that to you." 

"Save it, Seungmin-ah." Jisung is flying perilously towards his anger again, still far too upset to stop it. "You're just-" 

"I see," Minho cuts in, voice so neutral Seungmin can't tell what it's hiding. Even his expression is blank when Seungmin looks up again, so carefully constructed, yet Seungmin can't figure out why. He must be angry? Surely he is, yet there is nothing Seungmin can find that would say so. "Let's go home."

"Hyung-" Jisung starts, face etched with hurt and confusion.

"I think it would be best," Minho says, a little softer now. "I think we're all tired of today." 

(Halfway through the drive, Jisung starts crying again. Minho comforts him with quiet words and gentle hands, his ever present _"it's okay,"_ falling too easily from his tongue. 

"It's not okay," Jisung keeps saying. "How can you say that?" 

Minho knows it isn't, but he defaults to it every time nonetheless. If he says it enough, maybe he can believe it (though despite his breakdown, Seungmin thinks that on some levels Minho really _is_ okay with it, understanding that he can't change anything and having known that death was always on the horizon. He just doesn't think anyone can be expected not to be upset about it, no matter how well they've adjusted). It isn't hard to imagine that this is how he has comforted himself over the years, how others have comforted him, but Seungmin thinks there's a different undertone to Minho's words, a message much harder to say to a devastated friend.

_You will be okay._

He drives with his heavy heart in his throat, can’t even look at Jisung or Minho when he drops them off. He leans his elbows against his kitchen counter and rubs his face with his hands, hears his phone go off and ignores it, and his throat aches and aches and aches with the weight he can’t dislodge from it.)

  
  


Seungmin wakes up late the next day, far later than he ever normally would, his eyes fighting to stay closed and a dull ache already present in his head. The light that streams into his apartment is far too stark for the bland, gray sky and Seungmin takes one groggy look out the window and rolls over to the darker side of his bed to look at the wall instead, pulling his covers over his head. It’s not often he gets like this - especially not after escaping the despair of finals seasons - and he usually forces himself to get up anyway since there’s always things he needs to do, but today, without a job to go to or Minho to see, he lets himself wallow under his sheets. He’s hesitant to check his phone, too afraid of the messages he’s been ignoring. 

Will continue to ignore.

Jisung has only sent him one - a short _i can’t believe you._ \- but it still feels like a punch right to the stomach. Seungmin wonders if he’s told the others - _what_ he’s told them. Wonders if there’s a group chat without him or Minho, like they used to make when planning surprise parties. His messages from everyone else remain unopened as well, dozens of texts asking about what had happened in Busan, about Minho. They’re all concerned, so much so Seungmin can feel it seeping from his phone and through his fingers, but he can’t bring himself to answer any of them.

Then, from Hyunjin: _you quit your job???_

So Jisung _has_ said something.

Seungmin ignores the message and silences his notifications for the day. He gets up only in the late afternoon for lunch because his head really starts spinning and his stomach whines for food. It’s too much effort to cook today, so he orders food without much thought, clicking the first thing on his previous orders and ordering it again. Like he wants to taunt himself, he opens his messages again. Hyunjin has texted again, a single question mark, and Jeongin has sent a similar sentiment, but notably, Seungmin’s chat with Minho is utterly silent. Not that they text a lot, but usually Minho would have sent him plans for the next outing by now, or sent him an unprompted picture of one of the cats. Seungmin bites his lip.

Maybe he’s more upset than he’d let on. 

_What are we doing tomorrow?_ He types hesitantly, sending it before he can have second thoughts. If Minho is upset, this is something Seungmin would rather talk about in person. 

The message remains unread when Seungmin's food arrives. Remains unread while he breaks his rule of not eating in his room and restarts an old drama that always makes him feel better. The hours tick by, trickle slowly like water from melting ice, and Seungmin's room grows darker and darker. 

He resigns himself to cooking for dinner, knowing he should be responsible and use some of the things in his fridge that are approaching expiration. The message is still unread when the vegetables are sizzling in the pan, and later when Seungmin is doing the dishes. 

At 10, Hyunjin texts him _are you okay :(?_

Is he? 

It's followed by a subsequent _you can call me if you want to talk_.

Seungmin closes his phone before he can think too much about it. He almost wants to take Hyunjin up on the offer, but if he does, then all the heavy things in his throat will spill out. 

And Seungmin is afraid of them.

His throat tightens again and the ache, which never really went away, pulls at his vocal chords. 

At 1, when Seungmin finally lays down to sleep once more, he checks his phone once more to find that Minho has finally read his message.

_Come over at 7_

_Pack a bag for overnight_

_Oh and bring your passport_

After a long hour of tossing and turning, Seungmin falls into fitful sleep and dreams that he is watching Jisung find out that Minho is dying over and over again, and that he is the one who must tell him.

  
  
  
  


The first thing he notices when Minho opens his door is that he isn't the only one who had a shit night. Minho's eyes are puffy and bloodshot, his cheeks red and blotchy against the chilly pallor of his skin, and he looks like he hasn't slept a wink. Even in Seungmin's limited view of the apartment, he can tell that something is different. It feels empty when he steps across the threshold; weirdly still. 

"Do you want a hug?" He asks quietly as Minho stands there, looking miserably at the living room. There's a moment of hesitation and Minho swallows thickly, chest shuddering slightly, before he bites his lip and nods. It isn't the grounding hug of Friday night (Saturday morning? God, it's been less than a week. Seungmin feels like that was a lifetime ago), but one purely for comfort, for support. Minho doesn't cry, but Seungmin can tell he's close to it, the shaking different than the way he shivers from cold. Really, no one could ever blame him if he did.

But Minho is Minho, and though he often teeters on all too much and all too little all at once, he keeps himself together remarkably well. 

"I'll, um," his voice stops and starts as he pulls away, "just gotta get my stuff and then we can go." 

The airport is their destination, as Seungmin had figured from being asked to bring his passport. Minho doesn't live that far from it, which makes the heavy silence in the car not as bad as it could have been. It's almost funny to think that not even two weeks ago they were singing and laughing in the golden sun on their way to the beach, that just a few days before that had been the first time Minho had even really seemed sick to Seungmin. That he's only known everything for less than three weeks. Things have changed so quickly, taken such a sharp turn, that Seungmin can't bear to think about it.

"Who else is coming?" He tries to keep his voice neutral and light, but really, Seungmin has no idea what he's supposed to do, how to handle things. Minho hands him his ticket, looking a little better than he had earlier, with a confused look on his face. 

"No one," he says. Seungmin looks down at the ticket. 

**NAME: KIM/SEUNGMIN MR**

**TO: CJN JEJU**

Oh. 

Seungmin has been so focused on Minho and on his worries and on everyone else, that he'd forgotten entirely about himself and how he fits into Minho's life outside of all this. 

That there were seven places on Minho’s list.

He’s not sure what he’d thought - maybe that Minho had another friend that Seungmin doesn’t know - because until now he hadn’t thought about the shift in the past few weeks, hadn’t thought to consider them close,. Not like the others, anyway. Though he says nothing, his face must show something because Minho’s brows pinch.

“I’ve known you the longest,” he finally says after they pass through security, his fingers tight around his passport. “You’ve always been somewhere in my life, even if it was just at the edge.”

They’re the same in this way, in each other’s solar systems. If Minho is the sun of his own, then Seungmin is pluto. But as far as he is, he’s still orbiting around Minho, just as Minho is in Seungmin’s universe.

Still, it’s not like they have a particular special memory together or anything. Except… 

“The vacation we took in elementary school?” He asks, the realization coming to him like a burst of lightning. They would have been almost 9 and almost 7 respectively. Seungmin had practically begged his parents to let him bring Minho along on what was meant to be just a family trip. He’d spent a lot of time sick and in the hospital that year, and when Seungmin had been able to see him, Minho had seemed more subdued than before - not necessarily sad, just… not himself - and had clung to his parents a lot more. At the time, it hadn’t meant much to Seungmin other than disappointment that he couldn’t see his best friend much at all. But they’d had so much fun in Jeju, both of them so happy just to be able to play in the warm, summer sun together away from any worries or cares.

Minho hums and gives him a small smile. “Found the same guest house and everything. It’s just for today and some of tomorrow, but it’ll be nice to get away.” The smile runs flat, tinged with something sad. He shakes his head and it falls away. “We should find our gate. Do you want to get food or anything?”

They indulge in overpriced sandwiches as they walk; the kind that would be bland anywhere but here. In the liminal space that is the airport, the pathetic excuse for food just makes sense, like the weird clusters of stores at random intervals and the seeming miles of empty space between them, or the fact that there is not a single place selling food or water anywhere near their gate. It makes the dry bread suddenly taste a million times better, and the stale, warm water they’d bought a precious resource, rationed out until they’re called to board.

At Minho’s insistence, mumbling something about how it’s easier for him, Seungmin takes the window seat. Given Minho’s fear of heights, it makes sense that he wouldn’t want to be able to see how high up they are when they fly. Actually, Seungmin’s surprised he’s okay with flying at all, but Minho insists that he’s fine once they’re in the air. 

That doesn’t mean anything for takeoff, however, and he holds his armrests for dear life, teeth clenched together and eyes screwed shut. Seungmin offers his hand and Minho practically crushes it for the long, long 10 minutes until the plane is flying level in the clouds. The fact that his skin is ice cold helps numb the pain a little bit, at least. 

“Hyung,” Seungmin starts when he sees Minho relax, “about what Jisung said the other day…” Minho hums. “I… I really am sorry. I didn’t know it was you when I took the wish. Not that that makes it right, but… I wouldn’t do something like that. Even if it wasn’t you. A promotion wasn’t worth throwing away human decency.” Seungmin digs a nail into his palm. “I understand if you’re angry; I don’t blame you. It was still wrong of me and I should have told you, but I never used you. I promise.”

“I’m not angry.” Minho shrugs. “It stung a little at first, but honestly, I don’t really care that much.” His head rolls to fall to his shoulder and he raises his brows at Seungmin. “Can’t hurt me if I’m dead.”

“But Jisung-

“I’m not Jisung,” Minho reminds him. “Just because he’s mad doesn’t mean I am.” There’s a beat of silence. “You didn’t have to quit.”

“No,” Seungmin sighs, “I did. My boss didn’t like me very much, and I didn’t sign up to do _that_ sort of journalism, you know? I think it’s for the best - new chapter in my life and all that.” 

“Yeah,” Minho’s voice is quiet, fingers picking at nothing on his jeans. “That’s a good way to look at it.”

Briefly, Seungmin wonders if his wording wasn’t the best, just a little too close to home in this situation, but the flight attendant breaks his thoughts with a friendly smile and the offer of crackers and some drinks. He and Minho switch to lighter topics - their thoughts on the last episode of a drama they’ve been watching, a horror movie Minho is trying to convince Seungmin to watch, a weird book Seungmin is trying to explain the plot of - for the rest of the flight and by the time their taxi arrives at the guest house two hours later, they’ve moved on to reminiscing about shows and trends from when they’d been kids.

"It's been so long," Minho says wistfully when they walk in, his eyes roaming across the living room. So much of it is different than Seungmin's hazy memories, all updated and new to go along with current styles, but the smell calls to nostalgia and he remembers several summers playing with his cousins on the light wood floors, recalls that summer with Minho and how they had built a tiny neighborhood out of legos. Suddenly he misses those days. Things had been simple; his once big concerns so small and silly, looking back. What Seungmin would give to worry about not being the fastest runner in his class. 

"You up for lunch?" Minho pops his head out of one of the adjacent rooms, having claimed it while Seungmin has been staring at the living room. "There's supposed to be a great seafood place nearby, and we can get stuff to grill for later. How about it?" 

Here, far from Seoul and their friends, it's almost like Seungmin can believe that things are normal. That Jeju is an entirely different timeline where things are happy and warm and only those things, not shadowed by dark things yet to come. Even with the persistent grit in Minho's voice, the coughs he can't suppress, the shake to him, the sun brings life back into his skin and it's surprisingly easy - Minho _makes_ it surprisingly easy - to forget that they haven't escaped his reality. The atmosphere around them aches, but with something bittersweet rather than heavy. They peek into shops, take pictures, and walk along the beach, and it feels so similar to how it once had. Like that summer was a time capsule, a paused, unfinished moment in their lives preserved from the rest, and now they've picked up right where they left off.

When night falls and they're sitting on the back porch, plates of steaming meat and lettuce balanced on their legs and looking up at the stars, the bittersweet air blows through their hair on a warm summer breeze and wraps itself around their shoulders like a blanket. 

(It had been like this then too, on the last day of their trip, when they'd secretly stayed up late and snuck out to look at the glittering sky, pinky promising to be friends forever before Seungmin's mother had come out and ushered them back to bed with the gentlest of scoldings.)

It isn't cold, but Minho has still pulled on a jacket that once might have been a soft fleece material. It's old and rough, the knitted logo on it is hardly legible anymore, and slightly too big to be his. A different smell clings to it as well, one Seungmin registers as vaguely, vaguely familiar but he can't figure out where he knows it from. Minho almost seems to burrow into it like a turtle into its shell. 

"I, uh," he clears his throat, eyes fixed on his plate. "Sorry. About this morning. Maybe not sorry, but… I don't know." He chews his lip. "I don't cry that much; it's kind of embarrassing when someone sees." Seungmin thinks it best not to mention Friday. 

"What happened?" He asks. "If it's not too personal." 

"No, it's just…" Minho sighs. "I spent the day with my parents helping them move the cats to their house. I've… I've never not had them with me since I got them. I know they're all alive and well, but being in the apartment and realizing I was all alone was just…" He pauses, poking at a piece of meat, most of his food untouched. "I might not even get to see them again. And if I do, they won't even know it's the last time. I can't explain it to them, and they won't understand even when I say goodbye. I feel so sorry to them; they looked so confused when I left without them." Minho's voice gets tight and he pulls his phone out to show Seungmin a picture. "I left my hoodie, like how you give baby animals something to remind them of their mother to make them feel better." There, curled up on the dark blue hoodie Seungmin recognizes, are Soonie, Doongie, and Dori. "I know they're not dead, but it just felt like they were. Like everything was so empty and quiet. I know it's what's best for them, but they don't. All they know is that I left them." He laughs weakly. "I guess it's better that I go first; I'm not sure I could handle losing one of them." 

"Hyung…" Seungmin puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes gently. "You know they love you. They know you love _them_." He runs his thumb against Minho's back. "Love lasts forever to animals. To them you'll never be truly gone." 

"I guess." Minho places his plate on the wood slats and lets his legs hang down toward the grass. He puts a hand over his eyes to shield them from the nonexistent sun and squints up at the sky, and Seungmin puts a couple of pieces together as the action brings to mind someone else, a figure he barely remembers and had not often seen, even in childhood.

"Your dad's jacket?" No wonder the smell is that old, lost sort of familiar. How long has it been since he's been to Minho's house? Seen his parents? 

"Yeah, since I gave the cats my hoodie." Minho picks at a piece of fuzz on it. "He didn't say anything, but same sort of logic I guess." From what Seungmin remembers of Minho's dad - taciturn, but kind - that makes sense. "He’s had it since I was a baby and he used to wear it a lot when we'd go to the hospital. Back then… I was so cold then too, so I had trouble sleeping. And my parents couldn’t always stay with me, but I would get so scared and stressed that I’d make myself sick, especially if I woke up alone, so he used to cover me with it so I would be warmer and have something familiar if they couldn’t be there.”

They’re both silent after that, heads turned up towards the sky. The heaviness Seungmin had made himself believe they’d outrun returns as Minho ducks down and fights for breath while he coughs into a napkin. Seungmin’s eyes drop to the grass in front of them, a hand coming to rub Minho’s back. He tries to tell himself that he feels nothing, that he’s gone numb over this, but the heaviness settles right into his bones and soaks into his blood, silt in his lungs and rocks in his throat.

"I wish we could go back,” Minho says with too much breath when his cough has finally released him from its grasp. The smile he gives Seungmin is so very, very sad and makes Seungmin’s throat burn as he tries to swallow the rocks. “You were here for the beginning. Seems kinda fitting you're here for the end too."

Seungmin almost doesn’t realize he’s begun to cry until the first tear hits his hand. Then, the moment he does, he can’t stop and the floodgates open. There’s a gentle hand at the back of his head and Minho presses it to his shoulder, supporting Seungmin’s weight as he sobs. He strokes his hair with one hand, wrapping the other around Seungmin’s shoulders.

“Oh, Seungminnie,” he murmurs. “It’s okay.” So long as he lives, Seungmin never wants to hear those words again, but right now he barely even registers them, head clouded and aching. “I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but it’ll all be okay. _You’re_ gonna be okay.” Seungmin tries to say something, but it comes out as a whimper more than anything. Minho’s voice goes soft, audible only because Seungmin is so close to him. “Thank you for doing all this; I know it wasn’t easy on you. You’re a good person, Seungmin-ah. You’re a good friend. You’ve always been a good friend.” 

“I’m gonna miss you,” Seungmin eventually forces out between choppy breaths. “I’m really gonna miss you, hyung.” He’s only ever known a life with Lee Minho in it; it feels impossible that he can learn to live one entirely devoid of him. 

“I know.” It’s so sad that it hurts. Hurts Seungmin, hurts Minho. The faint smell of cologne that sticks to the jacket and the smell of air after a fresh snowfall that has always clung to Minho mix together into childhood memories that into Seungmin's skin and tuck him into times long past. Minho is right here, but Seungmin misses him already, misses the childhood friend who remains, lingering in the warm memories. “I don't know what'll happen when I die, but I know I'll miss you too." The voice is small and aching. Minho hugs Seungmin tighter. "I wish things weren’t like this.”

(Hours later, when the night turns chilly, they return inside under a thick blanket of quiet. Seungmin feels useless as he stands in the kitchen, staring at Minho’s back while he washes the dishes. Minho’s tense shoulders pause at one point, steaming hot water spraying against a plate and streaming down his hands. Then they slump.

“I consider my wish granted,” he says quietly. Seungmin has forgotten all about it by now. “I’ll go to the hospital when we get home. It’d be unfair for me to expect you to stay with me for that. My parents will come up, anyway.” Seungmin can’t think of what to say, mouth falling open but no words coming out. Minho sighs as he shuts off the water and dries off his hands. “We have to be out by 10. I’ll see you in the morning, Seungmin-ah.”)

  
  
  


Seungmin stares up from a crowd, up at the pedestal Lino looks out from, eyes wide as he stares at the sea of people, brow pinched in confusion. Soft snow swirls in the air around them, settling in Lino's hair and encrusting his shoulders in white crystals. People clamor, blinding flashes of light explode as a swarm of shutters click. Hands reach for Lino, reach to pull him down, reach for his mask. The crowd pulses around Seungmin, but he remains unmoving, try as he might to get closer. Even as Seungmin struggles, a hand outstretched to Lino as someone grabs his mask and tears it from his face, he feels as though he is only swept further away. 

They stand across from each other in the empty street of Seungmin’s childhood neighborhood. The ghosts of two children, bundled up in winter coats, run by, laughing and shrieking as they throw silver snow at each other until they fade away into quiet darkness.

Just like snow, soft white light swirls around them - stars that dust Minho's skin, glitter in his smiles, and pour from his eyes. He is painted in the blues of night. The weight of his hand is in Seungmin's, the curl of his pinky finger tight around Seungmin's in promise. Yet Seungmin's hands are empty, Minho's just the same as he stands so close and yet so far. Snow crunches beneath Seungmin's feet as he steps forward, still reaching, reaching, reaching. The finite space between them turns infinite as he approaches, but never touches, Minho. 

The warmth of someone now so cold wrapped around his shoulders. Snow and stars look much the same. Minho and Lino converge into one. Seungmin reaches the unreachable and hugs him like he can return the warmth and melt away the ice that is killing him. He hugs the past - the child, sick and confused, barely old enough to comprehend what was happening to him, what _would_ happen to him; the teenager, alone as he makes a decision even most adults would be afraid to shoulder the heavy outcomes of. He hugs the present adult, accepting and frightened at the same time. Seungmin hugs him with the unadulterated love of a child, the distance of a teenager, and the gratitude of an adult. With everything he was, is, and will be. 

“You don’t have to be alone,” he murmurs. “We’re not gonna leave you, hyung. _I'm_ not gonna leave you.”

  
  


It takes five minutes of Seungmin’s phone buzzing against the nightstand before he opens one bleary eye and reaches for it, half awake. Maybe he should have silenced it before he fell asleep too, just like he had yesterday and the day before.

“Hello?” He mumbles into his pillow.

“Please tell me you’ve seen Minho-hyung,” Jisung’s panicked voice rings out. “I haven’t heard from him in two days and no one’s answering his door and-”

“Jisung, calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down! What if something’s happened to him? What if-”

“Jisungie, he’s literally in the room next door to me.” Seungmin sits up just as Minho, bedhead at all angles, appears in the open doorway. “We’re in Jeju.”

“You’re _what?”_ Seungmin grimaces, pulling the phone away from his ear as Jisung shouts. “Hyung’s dying and you’re just fucking jetting off to Jeju for a _vacation_? What the-” Minho motions for Seungmin to toss him the phone, and so he does, not really in the mood to be yelled so early in the morning.

“It was my idea,” he tells Jisung, wincing just like Seungmin at the yelling that continues to emanate from the phone.

“You can’t just ignore your phone like that, hyung! God, we- I-” There’s a moment of silence. “You can’t just _do_ that.” Minho glances at Seungmin and jerks his head out the door. Seungmin nods, and Minho leaves the room. 

“I’m sorry, Jisungie. It was just-” His voice fades away as he returns to his room. Though Seungmin can hear him talking, it’s too muffled to make out what exactly he’s saying. The clock beside his bed blinks as it switches to 9:00, and he throws his legs out from under the covers to brush his teeth and get dressed while Minho is preoccupied. Briefly, he wonders why Minho has been ignoring his messages. But then Seungmin figures that if he’s had been with a barrage of questions, then it must be ten times worse for Minho himself. The situation is too hard, too delicate, to deal with over the phone.

Minho re-enters while Seungmin is folding his clothes to put back in his bag, the tired, frustrated sort of look of someone who’s just been lectured on his face. Seungmin’s phone lands in the soft mess of his sheets in tandem with a sigh. The double buzz of texts starts to go off and doesn’t stop.

“Thanks,” Minho tells him. He pauses for a moment, and Seungmin can hear the breath that teeters on the edge of words. “I don’t think I’ve said that enough, but… yeah.” He doesn’t even give Seungmin a chance to respond before he moves on, almost stumbling over his words. “The taxi’s supposed to be here in like twenty minutes; if you want to grab something to eat, you’ve probably got time, but I’ll buy if you want to wait until we get to the airport. Either way works.”

Seungmin’s phone, which has been bombarded with texts, goes off again with another call barely a minute after Minho has left the room.

“Hyung’s in the bathroom, Jisung,” he says in lieu of a greeting, tugging at his backpack zipper with one hand and frowning as the teeth snag on something and refuse to move. 

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you.” Jisung sounds almost nervous, the pitch of his voice just a little higher than it should be, a little thinner. 

“Look,” Seungmin sighs, “if you’re gonna lecture me, can you at least do it after I get home because-”

“I’m not gonna lecture you.”

“Then what’s up?” Balancing his phone between his shoulder and ear, Seungmin fights harder with his zipper, brief panic that he’s broken it flashing in his chest.

“I, uh.” There’s the telltale sound of teeth freeing from fabric and Seungmin has to resist the urge to sigh in relief. “Think I might have fucked up.”

“Why?” Seungmin holds his phone properly and places his finally zipped backpack on the floor as he makes his sheets as neat as he can. “What’d you do?”

“Hyung only told me, didn't he?" Jisung's voice has dropped significantly, hushed though Seungmin doubts he's around anyone else. 

"Yeah." 

"I guess he didn't plan to 'cuz he sent all of us letters inviting us over." There’s a pause, like Jisung is giving Seungmin time to process this and infer what he means. Maybe because Seungmin doesn’t answer, waiting for Jisung to go on and explain the problem, he continues. “I think he’s gonna tell everyone else.” The words are clipped and tense, like Jisung’s throat has grown tight.

It's neither surprising nor expected, somehow. Seungmin had figured Minho would tell the others eventually - there's no way he would let them find out after the fact; he's not that kind of person - but he hadn’t thought much about how. It makes sense, he supposes. This isn’t the kind of thing Minho can, _should,_ do over the phone, and telling everyone at once must seem like the easiest option to him - to say everything all at once rather than six more times.

“Probably,” Seungmin agrees quietly, willing himself to swallow past the sudden ache in his own throat. “But what’s that got to do with you?”

Jisung is silent on the other end of the call. Seungmin doesn’t have to see him to imagine he’s chewing at the skin on his lip.

“You didn’t tell them, did you?” Sticking his head out into the living room, Seungmin glances at the still shut bathroom door before retreating to grab his backpack and dropping it by the counter. With soft footsteps, sneaking away though there’s no real need, he half shoves his feet into shoes and heads out to the porch. The grass is still dewy and under the hot sun, golden mist rises around him. Over the far off crashing of waves, cicadas buzz. 

“You really don’t read your texts, I guess.” 

“You did, huh?” Seungmin sighs, just a little, and his shoulder slump as they suddenly grow heavy. He pulls his phone away from his ear and turns up the volume so he can still hear as he finally opens the dreaded messaging app. At the top is a new group chat - one that takes him no time at all to figure is everyone except Minho - and from the preview of the last message alone (barely 10 minutes old, a very confused _Jisung-hyung what do you mea-)_ his stomach sinks with a tiny anchor of dread. He doesn’t know why. It isn’t about him, isn’t about something that should only come from _his_ mouth, something that will hurt his friends to hear from anyone else. But as Seungmin scrolls through confused message after confused message about Minho’s invitation, it gnaws at his stomach.

“Not in those words,” Jisung mumbles. “But I kind of implied it. And stuff’s getting too obvious.” He sounds miserable. Seungmin reaches a message from Felix that reads _is this about Busan or something?_

“They’re too smart not to put two and two together. Everyone already thinks something’s wrong.” 

Seungmin knows that, but he says nothing. His unread messages have told him as much. 

So Minho must as well. 

But illness - as everyone suspects because no one’s first instinct is that someone is dying, because it’s so much easier for people to come to terms with illness, because holding someone’s hand through treatment is not the same is holding it while you lose them - is only a stone’s throw away from death. It doesn’t take a lot to bridge the gap, especially not when you’ve watched someone clutch at their chest and fall to the ground and seen red bloom on their mask.

Though no one has asked if Minho is dying, Seungmin wouldn’t be surprised if they had thought about it, only to push the thought away and refuse to allow it to come to fruition. Like all unpleasant things, it is to be ignored and put off unless it can't be anymore. 

**Han Jisung:** _… you don't think he's throwing a goodbye party do you_

 **Hwang Hyunjin:** _um what_

 **Bang Chan:** _wtf why would you think that??_

 **Seo Changbin:** _uhhh @_ **Kim Seungmin** _do you know what’s the deal_

 **Bang Chan:** _don’t you think we should ask Minho that_

 **Han Jisung:** _no you can’t ask him!_

 **Lee Felix:** _@_ **Han Jisung** _??_

**_Reply to Han Jisung:... you don’t think he’d…_ **

> **Yang Jeongin:** _Jisung-hyung what do you mean_

**Han Jisung is typing…**

“What am I supposed to do, Seungminnie?” The tap of Jisung’s fingers against his phone comes through, muffled. “I didn’t realize until I’d said it. I don’t… it wasn’t for me to tell. What if they’re mad at hyung? What if he’s mad at _me_?”

 **Han Jisung:** _haha just kidding_

**_Reply to Seo Changbin: uhh @Kim Seungmin do…_ **

**Kim Seungmin:** _idk :/ hyung didn’t say anything to me_

 **Hwang Hyunjin:** _he lives!_

“I don’t know, Jisung,” Seungmin sighs as he types. There’s not much either of them can do aside from damage control. And even then, he doubts it’ll work. The seed, already planted, will grow. “I don’t think he’ll be mad at you.” He doesn’t think Minho has never been mad at Jisung. And he doubts he would be now. Either Minho is avoiding anger or he isn’t bothering to waste his energy on it.

 **Kim Seungmin:** _guess we’ll find out what he wants later haha_

“It’s not easy, is it?” Jisung asks him quietly. “Knowing and keeping something so big to yourself.” 

“Don’t feel sorry for me.” Seungmin rakes a hand through his hair, turning around to glance at the house. “I’m not even shouldering half the burden.”

“Doesn’t make it easier.” There’s a pause. Through the windows, Seungmin can see movement inside. “That’s not why I’m saying it anyway. I’m just glad Minho-hyung had someone he felt he could rely on.” Another pause. Jisung’s next breath is deeper, more shaky. “I know we’re too old to think things work like this, but none of this is fair.”

Seungmin is suddenly tired, exhausted even, more so that he has been even in the past week. As much or as well as he sleeps, he’s always so tired. The bags under Minho’s eyes feel like the sandbags that pile onto his own shoulders and drag him down. What right does he have to be tired in this situation? To want to crawl into bed and sleep for months? 

“No.” It’s like all the exhaustion he has ever felt has soaked into the word. “It’s not.” He wishes he could say that that’s what makes this all suck so much; just that it’s unfair. That there are so many worse people in the world than Minho who deserve this much more. That it isn’t fair to him, or Jisung, or their friends, or Minho’s family either. But it’s not the unfairness. It’s because it’s Minho. Because it’s someone threaded into so many lives, but most importantly, into Seungmin’s. 

The world will lose cold, untouchable Lino and won’t even know what happened to him. Like with so many heroes, they shrug their shoulders and call it a shame, but move on and forget him without batting an eye, only to bring him up every so often to compare the newest splash on the scene to him. 

Seungmin almost envies them. He almost wishes that he could watch Lino vanish and just accept it as part of being a hero. But that would mean that he could not know Minho, and for all the growing pains that they have had, he doesn’t think that he would ever wish for that. 

The door slides open and Minho pokes his head out, tips of his hair just slightly damp as he blinks at Seungmin.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Seungmin tells Jisung. “We’re leaving soon.”

“Have a safe flight.”

“Mm, thanks.”

Despite his curious eyes, Minho doesn’t ask Seungmin anything as he returns to the kitchen to grab his bag except for, “Taxi should be here soon. You ready to go?”

**_New Message (1)_ **

**Han Jisung** _: I’ll keep you updated_

“Yeah.” Seungmin pockets his phone. “All good.”

Though they get food, neither of them eat much as they wait for their flight. Seungmin is too caught up in stomach knotting thoughts of how soon Minho’s month will be up, and Minho in frowning worriedly as he pokes at his food with utter disinterest, hunched over and leg bouncing rapidly and shaking the table between them. 

“You okay?” Seungmin asks as they board.

“Don’t feel so good,” Minho admits like it pains him to. Even through his coughing, through the bathroom incident, through things Seungmin is sure he’s dealt with all on his own, he’s never complained before. It must be bad if he is; they both know why admitting it seems to hurt. Coupled with the fact that he’s decided he’ll check in to the hospital, the day suddenly feels much darker than it had earlier.

“I’m sorry.” Seungmin wishes he could offer some way to help, some medicine to make Minho at least feel better. Wishing he could do more never does much of anything, however, and now it just makes him feel more drained. He just gets a barely-there shrug in response. “I downloaded a movie last night. Do you want to watch? It might distract you.”

“Sure,” Minho sighs. He falls asleep halfway through, chin to chest and head slumping in a way that can’t be comfortable. His breathing is slow, face relaxed. He looks so peaceful that Seungmin lets him be and doesn’t wake him up until the last possible minute.

 **_New Message (4)_ **lights up on Seungmin’s screen when he turns airplane mode off and he stands, head ducked beneath the low ceiling of the overhead compartment. Minho stretches beside him, looking far more grumpy now that he’s awake, and people around them move to grab luggage and prepare to deboard. 

Seungmin’s looks over his messages while they wait.

 **Han Jisung:** _I’ll keep you updated_

 **Han Jisung:** _I don’t think anyone really bought it :/ they just won’t say it point blank_

 **Han Jisung:** _idk what I should do :( I don’t want to just say hyung’s dying since that’s for him to say, but I kind of already did so…_

 **Han Jisung:** _idk man this is all so fucked up :( I’m just not gonna say anything and hope for the best :(_

“Why do you look constipated?” Minho’s sleepy voice floats up and Seungmin is pulled away from his phone to look at him, arms folded while someone in the aisle struggles with their suitcase. His face is just a little too tense, like his teeth are gritted against something and Seungmin doesn’t miss the way his fingers dig into his sides, just a bit, as though the action is not as casual is it seems. 

“Rude.” Seungmin pouts childishly at Minho and earns a snort of amusement in return. “I don’t.”

“You tell yourself that, Seungmin-ah.” Minho shakes his head and stands as the aisle finally clears, grabbing their backpacks from the overhead and tossing Seungmin’s at him. “Do you have any idea where you parked?”

“Not a clue.”

“Great.” Minho nods and smiles politely as they’re thanked for flying at the exit. “Should be fun. I’m looking to kill some time anyway.”

“You don’t want to get home?” Seungmin’s brows knit together a bit as he follows Minho through the tunnel to the airport. “Wouldn’t that be good for you, if you don’t feel great?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Minho tells him brightly. Too brightly. He walks slowly, with the resignation of a child at the doctor’s. It doesn’t match up. While Seungmin supposes it could be from pain, it doesn’t feel like just that. 

“Hyung,” Seungmin pushes, just a little. “Come on.”

“It’s not _that_ bad.” They both know that can’t be true. “A few hours won’t kill me and being home won’t make me magically feel better.”

“Somehow, I don’t think walking around the parking garage for an hour will either. You should take it easy.”

“No, but it’ll keep me busy. I’ll feel better if I don’t think about it.” Minho looks over his shoulder. “And seeing as all I’ll be doing when I go to the hospital is ‘taking it easy,’ I’d like to take the opportunity to do things while I still can.”

“Won’t help the pain; you know that’s not how it works.”

“Seungminnie.”

“Minho-hyung.”

“I know you mean well, but I know myself. I have no control over what’s going to happen to me or over other people, so can I at least have some control over when I go to my own fucking home?” Minho’s hand tightens into a fist, but the words come out more tired and helpless than angry. “I just want to think about something else and pretend that there’s some semblance of normal left in my life. Once we get back, that’s gone, Seungmin-ah. I can’t avoid it anymore. I know I well and truly can’t. So let me not think about it for just a little longer.”

Seungmin concedes, eyes dropping to the floor and too many frightfully complex emotions swirling in his stomach. Mixed with all of them, however, is a sympathetic kind of sadness. Not pity - it feels wrong to pity Minho, and it's the sort of thing he dislikes anyway - but still a pain for Minho, a grief different to the one that lives, pushed away and pointedly ignored, in the back of Seungmin's mind. He hangs back from Minho still, eyes fixed on the back of his head as they wander through the terminals and out to the parking garage, allowing Minho to lead the search. 

(Truthfully, Seungmin remembers where he'd parked about 10 minutes in. They pass his car twice when they loop around the 3rd level, and he only tells Minho he's remembered when he's staring at the stairs to the 5th, breathing shakily and with all too much effort, face twisted.)

Seungmin concedes, but he does not drop the subject. Its pause ends as he pays for his car's stay and they leave the airport behind, Minho's eyes lingering on the rearview mirror as he watches a plane take off and grow tiny in the distance. 

As it turns out, Seungmin doesn't even have to open his mouth. To his surprise, it's Minho who brings it up. 

"I'm scared," he says, head turning to look out the window as he curls up in the seat. It's so quiet that Seungmin barely hears him over the rush of cars beside them on the freeway, like admitting it is daunting in and of itself.

For Minho, it probably is. 

But of course he's scared. Even if he hadn't said as much, Seungmin would know. The agency in Minho's life vanishes in the face of the inevitable, and though Seungmin has no idea of the pain that he must deal with, he imagines it is the frightening sort. The sort that makes even the most healthy person fear the worst. Few people do not fear their own mortality when it looks them right in the eye.

“Yeah?” Seungmin doesn’t say _“I know,”_ though it would be so easy to. But it would also tell Minho that he is more transparent than he thinks, and that the way he acts has fallen short of a good performance, and Seungmin knows that responding like that will only kill the conversation rather than draw Minho out from the shell of safety he likes to hide in. “You wanna talk about it?”

“I can feel that I’m getting worse, so, you know, obviously there’s that. It’s not that I’m not prepared or that I can’t accept it or anything. I just don’t really like thinking about… exactly what’ll happen, but it’s not something I can just ignore anymore.” From the corner of his eye, Seungmin can just barely see the outline of Minho’s face, cut sharp by the sunlight that follows them. He stares at the scenery and cars flashing by as though he can commit them all to memory, like he wants to paint them in his mind’s eye forever. “I, uh,” he clears his throat a little, though it does nothing for his voice, “wrote everyone a letter. They’re coming over later.” A breath of silence. “I’m gonna tell them,” he says to the blurs of emerald green trees and the semi-truck that they overtake. “I kept putting it off because it felt wrong, but this feels wrong too. I don’t know; I guess it’s not like there’s any good or easy way to tell your friends you’re dying, but… I don’t know,” he repeats with a sigh. “I didn’t want to ruin such happy places, but I also didn’t want to be treated like I’m suddenly this fragile, pitiful person. And now, they’ll barely have time to process it. I made things harder for others all because I wanted them to be easier for myself.” Minho’s eyes flit to the rearview mirror, just briefly. Seungmin catches them and the guilt drawn in his brows before Minho looks away again. “It probably shouldn’t feel like such a challenge to tell them. That’s the easiest part of this all, isn’t it?” 

“No,” Seungmin answers truthfully. They pull off the highway and onto a quieter street. The sky has turned to a rich blue, melting into the pale gold of the gradually dipping sun. “Of course it’s hard, hyung. It’s important; it’s your life we’re talking about.” He breathes through his nose in hopes of preventing any of the heavy, hard feelings that aren’t of any comfort to Minho from coming up and tightening his throat. 

“I’m scared of how they’ll react. Whether it’s bad, or angry, or good - not that there is anything good - it’s all just…” 

“Scary?” 

“Yeah. Just the thought of seeing their faces is- I-” Minho sighs. “I can’t explain it. This sucks.” Weakly, without any force, he brings a tightly clenched fist to hit his leg, knuckles white. “It really fucking sucks, Seungmin-ah.”

Yeah, it really fucking does.

“Thanks,” Minho says to him, just like he had earlier today. Seungmin looks over to see that Minho is looking at him in the mirror again. “For not treating me any different. Like I was broken or something.” He smiles, just a little. “I may not have time to repay you, but I hope in my next life I will be someone you can lean on.”

“There are no debts between friends,” Seungmin murmurs, the only thing he can trust himself to say without choking up. The car falls silent as they get ever closer to Minho’s apartment and the air turns ever more rosy and golden, like a hazy blanket the sky lays over the bustling world. Minho looks at the sky like it is his first time seeing it, like he never wants to look away. As though involuntary, his eyes grow watery and he blinks rapidly to stop the tears that gather.

“I think I’m sorry to you, most of all,” he says in the gentle and assuring voice Seungmin recognizes from times when he had acted as he believed a hyung should to Jeongin, Felix, Jisung, and even Changbin and Hyunjin. It’s been ages and ages since it’s been directed at Seungmin like this. “I made things hardest for you; you suffered because of me these past few weeks. You don’t have to anymore. You can let go of that burden. You can rest, Seungminnie.”

“You weren’t a burden, hyung.” They pull into the parking lot of Minho’s building. Cars Seungmin recognizes well are all around them. “I chose this. Maybe it is hard. Maybe it does hurt more than anything I’ve ever had to do before.” The lights in Minho’s apartment are on, visible through the slats of his blinds. Seungmin figures that someone (probably Jisung) knows the door code. It means that Minho has no time to prepare and must throw himself into the chilly water of explanation without a moment to collect his thoughts or breath. “But if I can only ever help one person like this, I’m glad it’s you. I hope you found peace.” Minho squeezes his shoulder lightly. They stand just a few feet from his door. Muffled voices come from inside. 

“A life without regrets,” Minho says quietly. He stares at the door as though it is a wall he cannot climb, feet firmly rooted in place. 

“A life without regrets,” Seungmin agrees. “You can do it. I’ll be with you.”

“I have to.” Minho makes a hard swallow. “I have to do it.”

Six pairs of eyes stare at him and all conversation falls silent as Minho forces himself to walk into the apartment, Seungmin only a step behind. 

“Minho-yah?” Chan tilts his head at him. 

“Hyung?” Various mixtures of confusion and pain stare at them, and Seungmin can practically hear the turmoil between assuming the worst and stubbornly wanting to hold onto hope. Behind everyone else, Jisung stands uncomfortably, eyes misty and lost. He shifts his weight slightly and looks at the ground rather than at Minho.

“Jeju was nice,” Minho tries, a half hearted smile on his face. 

“Why did you invite us here?” Changbin asks. He holds up a piece of paper from among five others laid out of the counter. “You don’t do stuff like this, hyung.”

“Things change.” Minho kicks off his shoes.

“Where are the cats?” Jeongin asks. “What happened to them?”

“They’re fine. They’re-”

“Why did you makes the effort to take us all-”

“Well, I-”

“Why do the letters sound-”

“It’s just-”

“What’s Seungmin got to do with-”

“Stop!” Minho suddenly clamps his hands over his ears as he’s surrounded by five overlapping voices. He raises his voice to be heard over the bombardment of questions. “Please, stop!” It plummets at the end, falling through the cracked ice of his voice as it finally takes too much weight and shatters. Minho’s voice breaks in a way that sounds almost painful and his hands rapidly come to cover his mouth as he coughs, turning to try and hide his face. He coughs like his words have gotten stuck and he has to dislodge them. Hands and loud concern reach for him, but even Seungmin can tell that it’s more claustrophobic than helpful. His blood rushes in his ears and the clamor goes distant, replaced by ringing, and the scene goes blurry like Seungmin is only watching this through the TV screen. Over everyone’s heads, he can see Jisung’s bowed head, the way his shoulders hitch.

When Minho’s knees go weak, Seungmin catches him without even realizing. After what feels like forever, the coughing stops and everything is paused; no one moves, no one speaks, no one dares to even breath except Minho, hands still covering his mouth as he inhales deeply through his nose. Seungmin can see the red staining the edge of his hands, the thin line that crawls to his wrist until it freezes. Everyone can see it, eyes wide with all too much as they realize that their hope has no place here. When Minho finally pulls his hands away, his palm holds what look like tiny, sharp chunks of ice colored with thin, watery red. Then they melt as he stares at them, diluting the blood that has not yet turned to frost against his skin.

Fourteen eyes follow Minho to his sink. Seven mouths are silent as he runs the hot water and rubs gently at his hands.

“Let’s sit,” he says quietly as he wipes his hands, gesturing towards the living room but not looking at any one person in the room in particular, like if he doesn’t look at them he can make everything go away.

Chan, Hyunjin, Jeongin, and Felix cram onto the awkwardly small couch in a way that, on any other day, would bring about complaints about personal space. Changbin sits halfway between the short edge of the coffee table and the front of the couch, legs crossed and arms folded, but not in an argumentative way. Rather, in a way that seems more meant to protect himself. Jisung, after a long hesitation, finds himself on the other short side of the coffee table, closest to where Minho kneels on the log side, facing the couch. With the desperate look he’d given Seungmin, Seungmin has ended up right beside him.

“Well.” Minho’s fingers trace meaningless lines into his pants, but he clearly makes an effort to keep his voice steady. “I guess you’ve all sort of figured it out, but I, uh, I should still tell you myself.” His fingers curl against the fabric, teeth pick and pick at the skin on his lip. Eyes are on him like he’s under a microscope, but rather than trying to pick him apart and analyse him, they only search him with a frantic sadness. “I don’t really know what to say,” he murmurs with a nervous laugh. “May as well… start from the beginning I guess. Hi, I’m Lee Minho, 26 this year. You might also know me as Lino. And I’ve got an Ability.” He quickly loses the weak attempt at humour, voice quiet as he explains everything from when his Ability made itself known to his decision to become a hero to Seungmin’s recent involvement. He explains hospital visits and the struggle between body and Ability, the fact that it’s made him sick - that he’s always been sick, it’s just getting worse. Watching the devastation grow on the faces around them, Seungmin understands why Minho had been so afraid to see them. “My Ability is winning,” Minho finishes, steadiness gone. “What I’m trying to say is… is…” Under the table, Seungmin finds his hand and squeezes it. “What I’m trying to say is that I’m dying.”

It’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Minho’s head is dropped as if in shame, his eyes fixed heavily onto the table and teeth sunk into his lip like they’re going to draw blood. From his other side, sniffles come from Jisung. Seungmin can feel his own tears as the burn hot against his cheeks. Each and every time he hears this it feels like his first. 

“What?” Felix is the first to speak, but it’s tiny and almost inaudible. The air in the room is as frozen as its occupants, faces morphed somewhere between shock and unspeakable grief.

“I… I know it’s sudden and that it wasn’t fair for me not to say anything but- I just-” The fingers of Minho’s free hand curl tighter. His whole body trembles and seemingly despite himself, Minho cries. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” 

Like everything hits all at once, time starts again. Jisung is the first to throw his arms around Minho, then Seungmin, then Changbin, then almost all at once everyone on the couch. Someone else (Hyunjin, Seungmin quickly realizes - tears have always come easily for him) joins in on Jisung and Seungmin’s hiccups and contained sobs. Even those who do not cry - either because they have not processed the news yet or because numbness comes first - have such pained expressions on their faces that when Minho lifts his head he cries harder. The air around all of them has grown heavy and solemn, tinged with such tangible grief that Seungmin can taste it and it makes his head spin.

(It tastes like iron and electricity, numbs his tongue so that he cannot even speak around it.)

“Don’t be sorry,” someone is saying. Chan. Probably Chan. Words have never sounded so hard for him to say. “Please, _please,_ don’t be sorry.”

“I don’t want to leave you all,” Minho says like he’s still apologizing. “I’m sorry I have to leave you all.”

“We’ll stay.” To Seungmin’s surprise, it’s his voice that says this. “We’ll stay with you. And after you go, we’ll find you again.” In memories and pictures, in all the little things that Minho loves and the grand things he finds wonder in, in the snow and ice that turn dull winter bright. 

“Whether it’s in this life, what comes after, or the next, we’ll find you again.”

**Author's Note:**

> (I know it takes a long time to become a vet but it's my fic and I do what I want T.T)
> 
> <3


End file.
